Time of Angels
by Aireon Maris
Summary: "I never thought I would return to heaven and I never thought it would be without her. Live or die, we were going to stand together. But this...I never expected this." 4th in the Angel of Truth Cycle.
1. Chapter 1

Time of Angels

Heaven is in chaos, hell is rising, and earth is about to go nuclear.

A/N: Hi! *waves cheerfully* This is the fourth story in the Angel of Truth Cycle, and it might help if you went back and read the first three before moving on with this one. They are, in order: "Little Girl Lost," "Where Angels Fear To Tread," and "Courage of Fools." This story might make a bit more sense of you do.

Thanks for reading and enjoy!

One:

Skull Cemetery, Lawrence, Kansas.

They'd done it. The world hadn't ended. The Apocalypse had been stopped. Michael and Lucifer were trapped in the Cage, unable to wreak any further havoc. The only problem was, they'd been wearing Dean and Sam at the time.

Mary Winchester stumbled forward, still in shock at having to watch her sons fall into hell. She dropped to her knees besides Amitiel's still body, sprawled where Lucifer had left her. With shaking hands, the woman turned the angel over, pressing two fingers against the pale throat.

"Bobby," Mary called brokenly. "Bobby, she's alive!"

Bobby joined her, reaching down to pick the girl's head up out of the grass. "We should get her out of here," he said, his voice hoarse.

"Let me see her."

Both humans jerked at the sound of the voice so close to them. Castiel stood over them, staring down at the unconscious young woman with a sad expression. He was dressed once more in his original dark suit and tan trench coat, long ago ruined from Marax's tortures. Bobby moved aside to allow Castiel to kneel beside Mary.

He touched the girl's forehead, and then held his hand over her chest, a frown gathering on his face. He released a long breath before sitting back. "Amitiel is dead," he said softly.

"Are you sure?" Bobby asked hesitantly. "She's fooled us before."

"No," Castiel said. "Her Grace has fused to Mallory's soul. That could not happen if Amitiel lived." 

"It what?" Bobby stared up at the angel. "Is that even possible?"

"I did not think so until now," Castiel admitted. The girl stirred faintly and opened her eyes. They were blank and empty, dark and clouded. Castiel touched her cheek. "Mallory? Are you well?"

She stared at him for a long moment without replying. "Mallory?" Castiel tried again. Her gaze wandered away from him to the sky. A tiny frown creased her brows. Her lips moved soundlessly for a moment before she closed her eyes again.

"Is she—is she all right?" Mary whispered.

Castiel hadn't removed his hand from her cheek. "No," he replied tightly. He stooped to gather the girl in his arms before getting to his feet. Bobby and Mary scrambled up after him. There was a blink of movement, and they were in Bobby's library. Castiel laid Mallory down on the couch.

Mary passed her hand over her eyes. "What do we do now?" she asked, her voice hollow.

Castiel shook his head. "With Michael and Lucifer in the Cage, the Apocalypse is over. Life may continue as normal."

Mary dropped her hand and looked at the angel. "No, Cas. What do _we_ do now?"

He looked down at the girl. "Recover. Rest. Heal," he said softly. He smoothed her hair back from her face. "I have to go. Heaven will be in chaos. They'll need someone to put things back in order."

"They gonna let you back in?" Bobby asked sceptically. Castiel gave him a faint, mysterious smile.

"Yes, I think so," he said cryptically. He reached over and put his hand on Mary's shoulder. "I will return as soon as I can. We'll discuss our plans for the future then." He looked over at Bobby. "We'll deal with this together."

The grizzled hunter nodded. "All right. We'll hold you to that."

Castiel reached down one last time to touch Mallory's forehead. He frowned at what he sensed within her mind, but there was nothing he could do at the moment. She would have to wait. He took a deep breath, and began the journey home.

He'd been right. Heaven was in chaos. Castiel stood on an open walkway in the angel sector and simply observed for a long time. Voices echoed among the buildings and the air was full of wings. He had not seen such activity since the First War. He tried to make some sense of it all but could find no one who seemed to be taking charge.

Even in the chaos, someone still managed to notice his arrival. Rachel landed beside him, folding her wings behind her, and stared at him in shock. "Castiel?" she all but whispered, her eyes wide. "How is this..? Is it really you?"

"Yes, it is," he told her. "I've returned. And it seems just in time. What is going on?"

She shrugged with shoulders and wings "No one knows. After Michael vanished... No one knows what to do."

Castiel nodded. "Gather up everyone left from our garrison. And anyone you believe will be sympathetic. I will need their support."

"You intend to make a claim of authority?" she demanded, stepping forward. "Even after you were cast out?"

He gestured towards himself. "I should think this is proof enough of the legitimacy of my claim."

"Yes, of course," she corrected herself quickly. "I will do as you ask."

"Thank you." He watched as she flung herself into thin air, wings snapping out to catch her. He took a deep breath. Now that Rachel would spread the word, it wouldn't take long for the others to hear of his return. Sure enough, mere moments after Rachel's departure, another of his brothers touched down beside him.

"Raphael summons you to the Hall of Scribes," the angel announced. Castiel nodded.

"I will meet him there," he said.

"I am to escort you," the angel continued, eying Castiel suspiciously. Castiel resisted the urge to roll his eyes (Dean was beginning to rub off on him. He winced. The thought of Dean was painful) and sighed.

"Very well," he growled. "Escort me."

The Hall of Scribes was one of the oldest rooms in heaven and, in the architecture that changed constantly to suit the angels' needs, was one of the few consistencies. Raphael waited for them, seated in a magnificent wooden chair in front of the dais. On the dais, sitting on a humble stool, was one of the Archives. Castiel frowned at this, wondering what Raphael's game was.

"Hello, Sophia," he greeted the Archive. She did not speak, only inclining her head with a neutral expression, but Castiel did not take this as a sign to be worried. No one had heard Sophia's voice since Lucifer's fall.

"Castiel." Raphael drew his name out, staring at the angel over steepled fingers. "We have a bit of a dilemma."

"I'm sorry to hear that," Castiel replied promptly. Yes. Dean was definitely beginning to affect him.

Raphael's gaze darkened slightly at the other angel's flippancy. "With your reinstatement, some of our brethren may take it to mean that they may rebel and escape repercussions."

"It was never my intention to encourage rebellion," Castiel told his older brother. "I only did what I believed was right."

"It is not your place to decide what is right or what is wrong," Raphael said, his voice low and dangerous. "Your place is to follow orders. Archangel orders. Which, thanks to you, at this moment means me. So. This is what is going to happen. You are going to swear your allegiance to me in the presence of this Archive, and then you are going to open the Cage to release Michael and Lucifer."

Castiel waited a moment to insure that Raphael would be giving him his full attention. "No," he said simply. Raphael blinked at him and lowered his hands.

"You dare?" he demanded in disbelief. "After you have been granted mercy and allowed back among us? You would rebel again?"

"It is not rebellion, Raphael," Castiel replied calmly. "It is revolution. The old ways are over. That alone has been proven. Would our Father have allowed two humans to defeat Michael and Lucifer if He did not approve? I have been brought back to show our brothers that the time has come for us to begin making our own choices."

"You speak blasphemy!" Raphael roared, lunging to his feet. Castiel shrugged.

"Only because it needs to be said."

Lightning crackled among the indigo pinions of Raphael's six wings as they spread to fill up the space behind the archangel. "This will not be tolerated," he hissed, raising his hand. "Castiel, by the Father's authority invested in me, I condemn you to destruction." White energy gathered in his palm and he flung it at Castiel, sizzling through the air.

Castiel caught it in one hand and curled his fingers around it. It glowed brightly in his fist for a moment before fizzling out with a brief sputter. Raphael stared at him in utter shock. Sophia shot to her feet, the stool clattering to the ground.

One by one, six massive wings unfolded from the tight bundle at Castiel's back. They were silver-white, as pristine as fresh-driven snow, and gleamed like burnished metal in heaven's soft glow. White flame flickered along the feathers, wreathing Castiel in a pale aura.

"It appears," he said evenly. "That I have been promoted." He turned to look at the Archive. "Sophia, please take note. I, Castiel the angel of Thursday, Archangel, do make a claim of authority on this day, in the presence of an Archive and a witness, to lead the hosts of heaven in the name of our Father, Yahweh, the Lord of Creation."

Sophia closed her eyes and for a moment was shrouded in an orange glow. Enochian sigils traced in fire raced over her skin before fading away and she opened her eyes again, nodding at Castiel. Raphael took a step forward, his wings still raised aggressively.

"I will smite you where you stand," he growled.

The sound of wings filled the Hall, and suddenly Castiel was backed by dozens of angels, some determined, others looking confused, but all very clear as to whom they supported. "I had hoped we could come to a peaceful conclusion," Castiel said sadly. "The last thing I wanted was to cast us into another war." He squared his shoulders. "But I am sorry, Raphael. If you are not with me, than you are against me."

Raphael's face twisted in rage. "Lucifer's wings were white once, too," he spat, and then he vanished.

Castiel exhaled heavily and folded his wings carefully. The extra limbs felt alien and clumsy, but he expected he would grow used to them in time. He allowed the flames to die out, leaving him to all appearances once more his normal self.

Sophia stepped of the dais and walked over to Castiel. She took his face in her hands, her eyes boring into his as if reading his Grace. He kept nothing from her. At length she dropped her hands, stepped back, and bowed low before him. A murmur ran through the crowd behind Castiel at the Archive's approval. He turned to face them.

Rachel stepped forward and bowed as well. "What are your orders, my lord?" she asked.

"I need you to gather everyone who will support us. Tell them of what occurred here today, and prepare for battle. Raphael will not rest until he's destroyed us all. When I return, we'll begin planning our strategy."

She frowned. "Where are you going?"

Castiel reached into his pocket and closed his hand around the object resting there. "To keep a promise."

XxxXxxX

She was drawing again, or at least trying. Her breaths came in ragged gasps and her hands shook so hard the pencil tip broke against the paper. She cried out in frustration and flung the offending object from her. She stared down at the page and growled, ripping it from the sketch pad and crumpling it into a ball. She threw that, too, and narrowly missed the man standing in the middle of her room. She gasped and jumped to her feet.

"What is happening?" she demanded. "Why are they all so upset? I can hear them in my head and everyone is shouting..." She clapped her hands over her ears with a sob, tangling her fingers in her bright hair.

He walked over to her and took her wrists in gentle hands. "It's all right. It'll be over soon. I've returned, just as I promised. I have something that belongs to you."

She stared at him, puzzled. "Did you take it from me?" she asked.

He didn't meet her eyes. "Yes. But only because I had to. I had no other choice." He showed her the object nestled in his palm. It was a tiny vial on a silver chain, filled with liquid light that moved and shifted with a life of its own. Glimmers of blue and purple and green shown through, coloring her pale skin. On instincts she didn't know she had, she reached out and plucked it up with trembling fingers, undoing the stopper.

The light flowed from the vial, far more than it should have contained, and into her mouth, burning down her throat. It filled her to the brim and kept growing until her frail flesh could no longer contain it. But when it felt as if she must explode from it all, she could feel him there, holding the atoms of her body together until the shock wave faded and she was herself again.

His face was the first thing she saw when she opened her eyes. "Castiel," she whispered. He stepped forward and put his hands on her shoulders.

"Anna. I am so, so sorry for what we did to you. It wasn't right and it wasn't fair. My only defense was that I was defending Amitiel's Marked."

She almost didn't hear him, she was so distracted. "Castiel...you...you've changed. You're..."

His lips quirked in a wry smile. "Yes. I know."

"Is Amitiel..."

His smile faded instantly. "She's dead," he said flatly.

Anna blinked. "I'm sorry." And she found she was. "Castiel, I'm sorry. What I did, tried to do. I was wrong, I see that now. I should have trusted you, as you once trusted me."

"I still trust you," he told her. "And I need you now more than ever. Raphael wants to restart the Apocalypse but I cannot allow Dean and Sam's sacrifice to be for nothing. Will you fight with me?"

"Yes," she said without hesitation. "Always, Cas."

"Thank you."

A third presence joined them and they turned to look at Rachel. Her vessel was a tall, elegant blonde woman around Jimmy's age and, like Castiel's vessel, seemed to favor dark suits. "We've found something," she said, sounding slightly out of breath. "You're going to want to see this."

XxxXxxX

Mary clutched her cup of coffee and peered through the doorway into the library. Mallory was curled up on one end of the couch. Her black German Shepherd, Crow, lay beside her, head in her lap. One pale hand stroked his ears but she did not seem aware of her actions. She stared directly ahead, eyes still dark and empty.

It'd been three days since they'd stopped the Apocalypse. Three days that Dean and Sam had been trapped in hell. Three days since Castiel had promised to work something out and then vanished. And three days since Mallory had entered this state of shock. She ate if you put food in front of her. She slept every ten or twelve hours. But otherwise she did nothing but stare straight ahead and occasionally whispered something in a language Mary didn't recognize. Bobby guessed it to be Enochian, but he wasn't familiar enough with it to translate.

Mary wasn't sure what she was supposed to do. She'd spent the last few days cleaning Bobby's house from top to bottom for lack of anything else to keep her mind off her sons. Bobby had spent the time reaching out to all of his contacts, trying to figure out what was happening on a global scale now that the Apocalypse was off the rails.

Mallory suddenly drew a sharp breath, startling Mary. The girl stopped petting Crow, her entire body going still. Her eyes widened and her mouth opened as if she was trying to scream, but now sound emerged. She began to hyperventilate.

Mary lunged into the library, setting her mug down on the table on her way towards the girl. "Mal?" she called, dropping to her knees in front of her. "Mal, can you hear me?"

The girl stared straight past Mary, trembling all over. Crow recoiled from her, jumping off the couch and barking. Mallory's hands curled into fists and the tremors grew into full-body shakes. Mary grabbed Mallory's arms.

"Bobby!" she yelled. "Bobby!"

He burst into the room at a run and saw Mallory seizing. "Get her onto the floor," he barked. "Lay her on her back." Together they lowered her to the rug, Mary cradling the girl's head in her lap to protect it. The convulsions lasted for over a minute before Mallory suddenly went stiff, back arched. The lights flickered wildly, a couple of bulbs popping. Papers flew off the desk and books tumbled to the ground. A scream tore free of Mallory's throat, raw and inhuman. Then she went limp and still, breath coming in shallow gasps. She opened her eyes and they were once more her own, pale silver-gray.

"Good God, girl," Bobby panted. "What in the hell was that?"

Mallory blinked at him and frowned in confusion. "Uh...what am I doing on the floor?" she asked hesitantly.

"You had a seizure," Mary informed her.

The girl blinked again. "Can I get up now?"

Mary and Bobby sat back to allow her to rise. Her confused expression didn't clear. "Did something happen?" she asked, looking from one to the other. "Why are you looking at me like that?"

"You've been practically comatose for three days," Mary said, eying the girl closely.

Mallory's eyebrows shot up. "It's only been three days? Holy crap. Felt like longer." Crow chose that moment to bully past Mary and shove his nose against Mallory's neck. "Oh, hey, buddy," Mallory cooed, ruffling his ears. "How you been? I missed you."

"Mal," Bobby said sharply. "What d'ya mean, felt like longer? What the hell's been going on with you?"

The girl sighed and stopped petting her dog. "I just needed to sort some things out, that's all."

"Uh-huh," Mary said sceptically, crossing her arms. "That's not going to cut it, young lady. The truth. Now."

"What, are you my mother?" Mallory mumbled crossly. She looked over at the adults and winced at their expressions. "I had to sort my memories out from Ami's," she explained reluctantly. "When she...died..." she stumbled over the word, her voice breaking, "She did something to me. I'm not sure what. But all of the sudden I've got all her memories crowding up in my head and I couldn't..." She shook her head. "I need some air," she blurted suddenly, and lunged up from the floor, bolting toward the door with Crow on her heels.

Bobby and Mary exchanged completely bewildered looks and followed her out onto the front porch to find her clinging to the railing, leaning over to let the wind ruffle through her white-blonde hair. Mary walked over to her and laid a gentle hand on the girl's back. "Are you all right?"

Mallory frowned. "No." She waited a long moment, and then continued. "What happened to me, Mary? What did Ami do to me? Why do I feel like—" she cut herself off with a noise that sounded suspiciously like a sob.

"Castiel told us...he said that part of Ami's Grace fused with your soul," Mary told her delicately.

The girl's head jerked up. "It what?" she echoed in shock. Her mouth worked soundlessly for a moment. "Oh my God," she said, tears welling up in her eyes.

"Mal?" Mary demanded. "What is it?"

"It hurts," Mallory replied thickly, the tears spilling over. "I didn't know what it was but it hurts, all the time and it's—" She began to hyperventilate. Mary grabbed the girl's shoulders and shook her gently.

"Mal! Stop. Just breathe. What hurts?"

Mallory struggled to remain calm. "Sam," she whispered. "Sam hurts and I can feel it." She doubled over, clutching her stomach. "I wasn't supposed to be alone," she moaned. "We were going to do it together. _Ami_..."

Mary gathered her into her arms and just held her as the girl wept.

XxxXxxX

"I don't understand what I'm doing here," Jimmy said for what felt like the hundredth time.

Castiel didn't even look up, still doing...something...with the 3D holographic map that hovered in the middle of the room. Or the thing that Jimmy had decided was most like a 3D holographic map and couldn't come up with anything more analogous to refer to it by. Whatever it was, it was constantly shifting, either on its own or in response to a command from Castiel as the angel passed his fingers through it.

Jimmy looked around the room. It was a perfect cube and had a door in each side, including the ceiling and floor. There actually was neither, as each side held furniture (half of which Jimmy couldn't identify). "Cas," he tried again.

"I thought you would be more comfortable here," the newest archangel finally replied distractedly. "Otherwise you would only be in storage."

"Storage," Jimmy echoed, walking closer to Castiel. As he'd already had the experience of running around heaven with the angel looking like his identical twin, finding himself once more in that situation had not disturbed him as much as it should have. "You're still not holding all of this conversation out loud."

Castiel finally met Jimmy's gaze across the ethereal display. Okay, Jimmy would admit, it was more than a little disconcerting to see such an alien expression in his own eyes. "While an angel is in heaven, their vessel must be stored until their return to earth. Otherwise they would have to release the vessel. I still have need of you. I thought you would be more comfortable here, awake and aware, than contained in a pocket dimension in dreamless sleep."

Jimmy blinked. "Oh."

The angel went back to studying his holographic thing. "Besides, I find your company pleasant." He circled the...thing...and reached out to touch a shape, causing it to morph into something else. "I believe we are in desperate need of a more human perspective."

Jimmy blinked again. "I want to see my family," he blurted. Castiel's eyes darted to him and then away.

"At the first opportunity," he promised. "But I must warn you, heaven is on the brink of war. Such opportunities will be few and far between."

"Yeah," Jimmy sighed. "So. What's your plan?"

Castiel stepped back from the holograph. "Gather support, claim as much ground as possible, and cut off Raphael's access to the Cage."

"How are you going to do that?"

The archangel took a slow, deep breath. His wings fluttered once, feathers fluffing up in a wave before settling again. Jimmy couldn't deny that they were magnificent, and his fingers had been itching to touch them since he woke up in this place.

"I don't know," Castiel admitted. "I cannot send angels down into the Cage. I don't have the strength for a full assault, and it will undermine my stance that Michael and Lucifer must be let alone."

"So you're going to leave Sam and Dean down there?" Jimmy demanded. He still wasn't sure if he actually liked the Winchester brothers, but he sure as hell knew they didn't deserve to rot down there.

A brief flash of sapphire flame burned in Castiel's eyes. "No," he replied harshly. "Never." He closed his eyes and sighed. "I thought..." he trailed off. "I did not expect to survive the Apocalypse, Jimmy. And I thought that, if by some miracle, I did, then I would still be cut off from heaven. Amitiel and I discussed it...and we would have gone into hell to free them. We would have most certainly perished, but we would have brought them out."

He opened his eyes and stared at Jimmy, his expression almost lost. "I never thought I would return to heaven and I never thought it would be without her. Live or die, we were going to stand together. But this..." He spread his wings, all six limbs spreading out to take up most of the available space. Jimmy's breath caught when he found himself surrounded by white feathers and reached up to run his fingers over the gleaming fronds. They were incredibly soft and warm, but strong and heavy at the same time, like silk spun from sun-warmed metal. When they retracted, Jimmy felt strangely disappointed.

"I never expected this," Castiel went on. "As an archangel, I have...obligations. Certain things are expected of me. I may be powerful, but there are limitations. There has to be, for archangels. Otherwise, I'd be no better than Lucifer." And the thought troubled him to his core, Jimmy could see it on his face.

"'Lucifer's wings were white, once, too," Jimmy said softly.

Castiel's gaze sharpened. "You heard that."

"Yeah," Jimmy replied. He stuck his hands in the pockets of his suit pants and rocked back on his heels. "Why are you telling me all this? You aren't exactly the type to share all that much."

Castiel shrugged with shoulders and wings. "You are my vessel. If I cannot be honest with you, than who?"

An angel strode through one of the doors, crossing the left-hand wall as if walking on a floor. Jimmy tried to suppress the swoop of nausea in his stomach and racked his memory to identify the newcomer. He finally dredged the name "Rahab" up from the muddle of his first few moments back in heaven.

"My lord," she greeted respectfully as she crossed the gravity threshold. Castiel's expression briefly darkened.

"_There needs to be another title,"_ he told Jimmy privately. Jimmy rolled his eyes.

"What is it?" Castiel asked out loud.

"There is a human soul," Rahab began hesitantly. "He is demanding to speak with you. We found him wandering between heavens. He says he will not cooperate until he sees whoever is in charge."

"Bring him to me," Castiel ordered. "I will take care of it."

Rahab nodded and hurried off.

"I should have gone to visit Ash earlier," Castiel told Jimmy. "From what I've heard of his skills, he will prove invaluable."

"No doubt," Jimmy said dryly. He'd only heard bits and pieces about the hacker, but in his opinion, anyone that bucked the system was an ally right about now. When he heard footsteps approaching, he tried to figure out which doorway they'd enter but gave up and picked one at random. He was in luck. Rahab re-appeared, a human in tow.

Jimmy instantly knew something was wrong, not even taking Castiel's reaction into account. The man standing in the doorway did not at all match the mental picture Jimmy had formed from what little information he had. There was no way this broad-shouldered, hard-eyed man with two weeks of stubble could be a stoned hacker who had, in the past, slept on pool tables.

The man instantly zeroed in on Castiel, possible due to him being the only other winged one in the room. "Are you in charge here?" he demanded, pushing past Rahab and striding into the room. He glanced around himself with keen notice but didn't seem bothered by the strange geometries.

"I am," Castiel replied simply.

"Then maybe you can tell me what the hell is going on," the man continued gruffly. His eyes finally settled on Jimmy and there was a frown, a darting look between angel and human, before an obvious dismissal and his attention turned back to Castiel.

"Raphael wishes to restart the Apocalypse. I will not let him. Heaven is about to devolve into civil war," Castiel replied crisply.

"Yeah, and what does it have to do with my sons? That's all I hear any of you talking about. I keep hearing their names everywhere." He took a threatening step forward. "What happened to Dean and Sam?"

"Your sons are the ones who defeated Michael and Lucifer, John Winchester," Castiel said. Jimmy's eyebrows shot up. His muttered, "Holy crap" was drowned out by Castiel as he continued, "But at a price."

John's eyes narrowed. "What price?" he growled.

"They are currently trapped in the Cage along with Michael and Lucifer," Castiel told him, his voice emotionless.

John went pale. Castiel nodded at Rahab, who bowed and excused herself. John continued staring at Castiel in blank shock for a long moment. Then he managed to pull himself together. "Well, what are you going to do about it?" he demanded. Castiel raised an eyebrow. "The way I figure," John went on, his voice a low rumble. "You didn't want the Apocalypse to happen. With Michael out of the equation, there's less competition for power. I don't care who calls the shots up here, you or Raphael. But you owe my boys for giving you the opportunity to step into this power vacuum so you're gonna get them back home."

Before Castiel could reply, Jimmy calmly stepped forward and punch John across the jaw as hard as he could. John stumbled sideways, one hand coming up to probe the bruise forming on his chin. "What the fuck—" he spat angrily, only to have Jimmy step right into his face and glare up at the taller man with furious eyes.

"If you _ever_ suggest that Castiel fought this war for selfish reasons again, I will end you," he said in a deadly voice.

"Jimmy," Castiel said, putting his hand on his vessel's shoulder. "That wasn't necessary."

"Yes, it was," Jimmy replied through gritted teeth.

John glowered at Jimmy but seemed wise enough not to pick a fight in the presence of an archangel. Castiel looked from Jimmy to the other human man. "It was never my intention to leave Dean and Sam in the Cage," he said coldly. Jimmy smirked, knowing that he wasn't the only one who'd taken offense to John's obtuseness.

"Then what was your intention?" John demanded.

Castiel's expression suddenly went calculating. "Your sons had an ally. A warrior who would be willing to venture into hell for them. I am sure the company of an experienced hunter would be appreciated. Especially one who has seen and knows hell."

Jimmy looked sharply at Castiel, wondering who he meant, but said nothing, reluctant to undermine whatever the angel was playing at.

"You're asking me to go with this warrior of yours into hell to get Sam and Dean?" John said slowly, his eyes suspicious.

"Yes," Castiel replied promptly.

John continued to stare narrow-eyed at Castiel, and then growled, "Fine. I'll do it. But no tricks."

It was Castiel's turn to narrow his eyes and growl. "I am not a crossroads demon," he said warningly. "I don't deal in trickery."

John eyed Castiel for another moment, and then nodded. "All right. Let's get to it, then."

Castiel turned to Jimmy. "We will return to earth now. With your permission?"

Jimmy rolled his eyes. "Cas, you don't need to ask every time now. Just get it over with."

Castiel huffed in amusement. "Very well." Ignoring John's confused and suspicious expression, Castiel extended one wing to wrap around Jimmy and draw him close. "This may be disorienting."

"I remember," Jimmy told him.

The next moment, Castiel stood with his feet in the dry, dusty grass of South Dakota, reacquainting himself to be contained once more in human form. Beside him, the spirit of John Winchester flickered a few times before stabilizing. He looked around. "Where'd the other one go?" he asked.

Castiel reached up to tap his temple. "Jimmy is within," was all the explanation he offered. "Come. We don't have a great deal of time."


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: Just as a warning to my continued readers. I am attempting to write longer chapters for this story, so the times between updates may be longer than before. Please bear with me. All your reviews are like manna from heaven! I love you all!

XXXXXX

John wondered whether or not he should be surprised to find himself at the scrapyard. Surely the angel wasn't referring to Bobby Singer when he'd mentioned a warrior. Singer was a decent enough hunter, but he was better at research and rooting out esoteric information.

The archangel stood for a moment on the gravel yard, eyes narrow as they roamed over the house. John waited a few moments and then demanded, "What are you doing?"

"Checking the wards," the angel replied tersely. Then the world blinked around them and they were inside Bobby's living room. For a moment John felt like he was going to dissolve, fly apart, but then an outside force wrapped around him, keeping him together. He looked over at the angel, but his attention was elsewhere.

A dog started barking somewhere in the house a moment before it appeared from the kitchen, a big black German Shepherd that stood with its fur bristling, snarling in John's direction. Bobby arrived a moment later, shotgun in hand. He looked around and lowered the gun.

"Goddamit, Crow, it's just Cas," he said, reaching down to rap his knuckles on the top of the dog's skull.

"I don't think I'm the one upsetting him," the angel said, stooping to ruffle the animal's ears. The dog stopped growling long enough to lick the angel's fingers. Bobby blinked and then seemed to catch sight of John for the first time.

"You've got a twisted sense of humor, Cas," Bobby growled, his gaze darkening as he stared at John.

"I've been told repeatedly that I don't have a sense of humor," the angel replied in deadpan.

"Yeah, well, no one's laughing," Bobby went on. "John. The hell you're doing here?"

"Bobby. Good to see you, too," John replied dryly.

The dog hadn't stopped growling. Bobby yanked on its collar. "Mal! Come get your dog!" he yelled.

There was a patter of footsteps on the stairs. John turned to see who this "Mal" was and was surprised to see a girl jog into the living room and give a sudden squeal of excitement. "Cas!" She flung herself at the angel, throwing her arms around his waist and burying her face in his chest. The angel didn't hesitate to wrap one arm around her shoulders and rest the other hand on her hair.

"I am happy to see you're doing better," he told her.

She laughed, her voice muffled by his coat. "That's not the word I would use," she mumbled. She pulled away. "You're here about Sam and Dean?"

"Yes," he replied.

"Good," she nodded, and then her eyes widened. "Oh, my God."

"What is it?" Bobby demanded, stepping forward and putting the shotgun down lay one hand on her narrow shoulder. "Mal?"

Her eyes were unfocused, her expression suddenly dreamy. "Don't you know?" she asked. "Can't you _see_?"

"See what, girl?" Bobby prompted.

She lifted her hand, reaching forward to card her fingers through the angel's nearest wing. "Six wings. He's an archangel."

Bobby stared at the angel. "What?"

John gave the angel a sharp look when he shuffled his wings together, his expression almost sheepish. "I appear to have been promoted," he explained.

"Oh. Well, congratulations," Bobby said, his expression once more neutral. "Mal, can you shut your dog up, please?

The girl dropped to one knee beside the still-bristling animal. "Crow, it's okay. Cas wouldn't have brought a ghost here if it was bad."

"He's not a ghost," the angel said at the same time John protested, "I'm not a ghost."

"This is John Winchester," the angel introduced. "I brought him down from heaven."

The girl tilted her head. "Okay. This...is going to get complicated."

"I heard Crow, what's going on..." the voice trailed off in shock and confusion. John froze, suddenly very unwilling to turn around. But everyone else turned to face the doorway so John carefully followed suit.

Mary stood at the threshold, her face blank and blue eyes wide. She looked exactly like John remembered her. She was wearing jeans and a blouse with the sleeves rolled up, her hair pulled back from her face.

John found he couldn't speak, only stare at her as she stared back. No one else dared say anything. Then Mary stepped forward, first one cautious step, and then another until she stood in front of John. Her hand lifted to touch his cheek but she snatched her hand away as if burned.

"You're not real," she whispered.

"Yes, I am," he replied softly. "I'm just not...alive." His gaze wandered over her. "What are you...how are you here?"

She laughed bitterly. "Angels. They needed leverage against our boys."

"They brought you back?" he frowned, his eyes darting over to the archangel, who was watching them with an unreadable expression.

"Yeah," Mary said with a sigh. "A few weeks ago. It's been...hard."

"I'm so sorry," John told her.

A strange look flitted over her face and her eyes were suddenly hollow. "So am I." Then she stepped away from him, turning to the angel. "Why is he here?" she asked, sounding as if her throat was tight.

"He agreed to help us rescue Sam and Dean," he told her.

"Wait, aren't you," Bobby began, but the angel cut him off.

"I can't authorize angels to open the Cage."

"Why the hell not?" Bobby demanded.

"Because Raphael is going to make an attempt and I cannot jeopardize my position that the Cage must be left alone," the angel replied shortly.

"Raphael," the girl whispered. "We forgot all about him."

"He hasn't forgotten us," the angel said grimly. "He is about to start a civil war in heaven. If we are going to get Dean and Sam out of the Cage, this is our only opportunity."

"If not angels, then who?" Mary asked, refusing to look at John. He watched her, wondering at her aloofness, but refrained from asking. There was more important things to deal with at the moment. The angel turned to look at the girl.

"Do you still intend to keep your promise?" he asked.

"Yes," she replied before he finished speaking.

"What promise?" Bobby growled, glaring at the girl from under the brim of his ever-present cap.

"I told Sam I'd come to get him, no matter what," the girl told Bobby defiantly.

"You're going to let her go to hell after the boys?" Bobby asked the angel in horror. "The hell are you thinking?"

"I'm coming, too," Mary interrupted.

"No," everyone else said at the same time. She crossed her arms over her chest and raised her eyebrow at them.

"Mary," John said, stepping toward her. "You can't. I've seen hell. I know what it's like. I don't want you going there."

"And I didn't want my sons to be raised as hunters," she replied, her voice cold. "But we don't get what we want, do we, John?" He stared at her, stunned. Her eyes darted back to the angel. "If Mal is going, I'm going, too. She'll need someone to watch her back."

"That is why I am sending John," the angel pointed out.

"I'm still going," she insisted.

"You can't be serious," Bobby burst out. "You're all crazy! You can't expect to just waltz into hell, grab the boys, and waltz out."

"No, but they have the best chance of success," the angel countered. "John has experienced hell before. He'll be able to guide them. Mallory has been given angel's Grace. It will protect her." He gave Mary a long, thoughtful look. "Mary has proven resistant to supernatural influence before."

Bobby looked around at them. "Y'all really want to do this?" They nodded silently. He blew out a gusty sigh. "Well, then I guess I'm in, too."

"I need you here, Bobby," the angel replied, shaking his head. "I need you to maintain your connections with other hunters, to monitor activity on earth. Your home could also provide shelter and safety for my followers."

Bobby looked about to argue when Mary put her hand on his arm. "Bobby," she said softly. "We got this."

He scowled. "Fine. Then I'll just wait for you idjits to get back." He jabbed a finger in their direction. "And if you don't, I'll whup your asses, ya hear?"

Castiel lifted his hand, palm toward the ceiling. "You'll need this," he told the girl. Something _twisted_ and then there was a silver sword in his hand. John leaned forward for a better look. The blade was about a foot long and tri-edged. The bare handle would only fit one hand. The girl stared at it for a long moment.

"That's Ami's," she finally whispered.

"Yours now," the angel replied. She swallowed heavily and stepped forward, reaching out to take it reverently. She held it and stared down at it for a long moment before _twisting_ and it was gone.

"Thank you," she said unevenly.

"You'll want the Knife, then, too," Bobby said, moving over to the desk and picking a hunting knife off the top. It had symbols carved into the blade and handle. Mary took it from him and slid it into her boot. Bobby opened a drawer and pulled the Colt out as well as a leather sleeve of ammunition.

"I'll take that," John said quickly. Bobby hesitated, but then handed the items over. As his hand closed around the revolver, a strange tingle passed through John's body. There was a light-dark feel to the weapon, good and evil in equal balance. He slipped it inside his jacket but the sensation persisted.

"You need anything else?" Bobby asked. "Weapons, supplies?"

"They will not need food or water," the angel said. "Their bodies will be in suspension. Do you have any consecrated objects?"

"A medal of St. Jude and a rosary. You think they'll help?"

"It won't hurt."

"I'll get them." Bobby returned a moment later and handed a silver pendant to the girl and a blue-beaded rosary to Mary. She studied the icon dangling from the string.

"Dominae angelorum," she read with a smile. "Appropriate." She wrapped the beads around her wrist. "Thanks, Bobby."

The girl fingered the chain now hanging around her neck. "Is that it? Are we ready?"

The angel reached into his pocket. "You may also find a use for this," he said, handing an object to the girl. She held it up with a frown. It was a cloudy crystal, irregular and unpolished.

"What is it?" she asked, turning it over in her hand.

"It is a weapon of heaven," the angel replied. "Used in the destruction of Sodom and Gomorrah. It destroys items by turning them into salt."

The girl's eyes lit up and Bobby whistled. "That's brilliant," she said, pocketing the crystal.

The angel nodded. "Now it is time."

The girl promptly turned and launched herself at Bobby, startling the bearded hunter. He embraced the girl wordlessly. "Just come back safe, ya hear?" he muttered.

"We will," the girl promised. She stepped to the angel's side. He held out his hand and she took it unhesitatingly. There was a blink of movement, and then they were standing in a cemetery. John recognized it as the one in the middle of Samuel Colt's gigantic demon trap, the Devil's Gate looking significantly less foreboding in broad daylight.

"Once I open the Gate, you will have to move quickly," the angel told them. "I won't be able to hold it open long."

"How will we get back out?" Mary asked.

"I'll know when you near the surface," the angel replied. "I will send someone to open the Gate then."

"All right, got it," Mary said, nodding. She glanced over at John and the girl, eyes questioning. "I think we're ready."

The angel extended one hand toward the Gate and the lock spun before the doors swung ponderously outward. Darkness roiled in the doorway, intermingled with flashes of sickly green light. "Go!" the angel ordered. "Go now!"

The three humans bolted forward, shoulder to shoulder, and plunged into the darkness. It swallowed them completely and then they were falling.

The sensation of weightlessness lasted only a few moments before they impacted a surface. Mallory lay on the ground, gathering her wits and breath. She choked on her first inhale. It wasn't sulfur, like she expected. It was blood and hot metal and oily smoke. She felt hands on her arms and allowed Mary to help her to her feet before looking around. The ground was covered in a dark, nebulous mist that came up to her knees. Nothing else broke up the landscape for as far she could see but the air was full of noise: screams, voices, and other unidentifiable sounds.

"What is this?" she asked, looking over at her companions. Mary was gazing around, just as mystified as she was, but John was looking upwards.

"The waiting room," he replied grimly. Mal followed his gaze.

Far, far above them roiled green and black clouds that exuded the sickening light. Beneath the clouds was a massive web of chains. Suspended in the web were human forms; torn and bloody. Mary gasped and pressed a hand over her mouth. Mal's stomach turned as if it wanted to empty its contents, but she didn't manage anything more than a few dry heaves.

"We have to keep moving," John said, starting forward. "Before anything notices we're here."

Once they were out of the waiting room, it got worse. Mallory stood on the edge of the cavern and tried to ignore the swoop of height sickness in her stomach as she peered down. The bottom was so far away it wasn't visible. The other side appeared to dozens of miles away. There were rough terraces hacked out of the sides of the Pit and cave mouths dotted the red stone like dark, watching eyes. The noise was the same here, unending and relentless. The smell was even stronger, too. Heat wafted up from the depths, thick and stifling, but Mallory's skin remained dry.

"The Cage is most likely at the very bottom," John said roughly.

"What's the quickest way down?" Mary asked, still not looking at her husband.

"Jump?" Mal offered, a weak attempt at humor. No one thought it was very funny.

"There's plenty of paths running up and down the sides. I don't think any of them were built with speed in mind," John replied.

"Then which ones won't be guarded?" Mary leaned further over the edge, eyes scanning the Pit below her.

"I came up that one," John pointed. "But most everyone was distracted by the Devil's Gate being open. I'm not sure what it looks like normally.

"We may as well try it," Mary said with a shrug. "Our other options don't look much better."

"Right," John agreed. He took the lead, Mary motioning Mallory to go second so she could bring up the rear. The path was narrow, crumbling under their feet. Mallory kept her eyes on the ground beneath her so she wouldn't have too look at what was rapidly becoming clearer as they descended. For a few hours, they walked in silence, encountering nothing. Until they approached the first cave mouth. John hesitated for a moment, peering into the darkness, and then he stepped across it.

A blurred shape dove out of the cave and slammed into John, taking them both over the edge of the path before the two women could react.

"John!" Mary cried out, lunging to the spot where he'd gone over. There was a ledge about thirty feet down, and John was struggling with an emaciated creature that was trying to wrap its long fingers around his neck.

Mallory swallowed, took a deep breath, and flung herself over the edge of the path. She landed hard and went down, pain shooting up her right leg. She forced herself to her feet and lunged forward, summoning her sword. Just as she was about to plunge the blade into the creature's back, it spun around and struck out at her. Mallory dodged the blow but she got her first good look at the thing.

It looked like clay-colored skin stretched over a deformed skeleton: crooked back, arms and legs far too long, and an eyeless skull with a too-wide mouth and broken teeth. It also reeked like rot and decay. Mal gagged but raised her blade again.

Two more to the creatures dropped down onto the ledge, immediately closing on Mal. She backed away, eying them warily. They crawled closer, heads moving back and forth, sniffing loudly. Then one pounced, mouth open and fingers grasping. Mal ducked to the side and slashed her blade across the thing's chest. The angel sword clove through the creature's ribcage as if through butter, slicing it in two. The other creature didn't even seem to notice its companion's demise and attacked. Only instead of going after Mallory's vulnerable throat, it latched onto her sword arm, biting deep into her skin.

Mallory shrieked and fell backwards, the thing on top of her. She clawed at its face but it didn't budge. Her flailing hand closed around a rock and she bashed it against the side of the creature's head as hard as she could. It released her arm, blood dripping from its mouth, and pinned her down with a hand around her throat. Mallory tried to lift her injured sword arm but it merely seized her wrist, slamming it back to the ground.

A loud, sudden noise close by made Mallory flinch. The creature slowly tilted sideways to the ground, sliding off of her. She scrambled backwards. John stood a few feet away, Colt in hand and still pointed at the monster. The corpse of the third lay at his feet, neck at an impossible angel.

"What the _hell_ were those things?" Mallory demanded, trying to stop the bleeding in her right arm.

"Pre-demons," John replied. "Souls tortured to the point of breaking, but not quite demons yet."

Mary skidded down the path above them, sending a shower of dirt and rocks down into the Pit. "Are you all right?" she demanded as soon as she joined them. "Mal, how bad is it?"

"I don't know," Mal replied, looking down at the injury. In all honesty, it didn't hurt as much now. She removed her hand to examine the bite marks. "Holy..." The blood was already clotting, scabs closing the crescent-shaped wound. She used her shirttail to wipe away the excess blood. "That's weird."

Mary carefully took her arm to get a closer look. "Maybe it's because we're in hell?" she asked hesitantly.

"No," John replied instantly. "Wounds bleed the same here."

"Then maybe it's Ami's Grace?" Mary suggested.

Mallory pulled her arm free of Mary's grasp. "Maybe." She clambered to her feet and noted that the pain in her knee was also gone. "Whatever the cause, I'm sure it'll come in handy."

XxxXxxX

Castiel strode through heaven's corridors, Jimmy at his side. The angel sector was now almost split cleanly in half, but no aggressive moves had been made. Angels were still choosing sides and Castiel's followers grew with each hour. But he knew that Raphael still had the advantage.

He felt Jimmy's eyes on him but said nothing. His mind was on the soldiers he'd sent to earth to try to ascertain Raphael's movements there. He hadn't been able to spare as many as he'd have liked and he worried that they would be found out. More of his followers were spreading out though the human sector, ensuring that the souls there remained undisturbed. He'd sent a message to Ash, hoping the notoriously anti-angel human would make an exception, but hadn't heard back yet.

It didn't help that the Mark was a constant source of steady, throbbing pain in his Grace, a reminder that Dean was in the Cage and Castiel could do nothing about it. He'd sent John, Mary, and Mallory after the brothers, of course, but every instinct in Castiel's Grace commanded that he descend into hell with drawn swords to raise his Marked from perdition.

"You don't think they'll do it."

Jimmy's voice was unexpected. Castiel looked over at the human sharply. "What?" he asked.

"You don't think they'll get Dean and Sam out," Jimmy repeated.

"I never said that," Castiel protested roughly.

"You were thinking it," Jimmy countered.

"You presume to know my mind?" Castiel asked, slightly amused.

Jimmy waved his finger between their heads. "Hey, I'm your vessel. The whole mind-sharing thing works in heaven, too."

"I have every confidence John, Mallory, and Mary will be successful," Castiel said flatly.

"Lying's a sin," Jimmy told him. "You're worried. It's okay to be worried about your friends."

"I cannot afford the distraction," Castiel replied. He reached his destination and gestured at the doors, commanding them to open. They swung inward ponderously, revealing the Hall of Scribes.

"Is there anything I can do?" Jimmy asked.

"You are already doing it," the archangel said.

"I don't mean moral support, Cas," Jimmy said, annoyed. "There has to be something I can do other than follow you around."

Castiel looked thoughtfully over at his vessel. "Actually, there might be..." he trailed off with a frown, his head snapping forward again. Jimmy followed his gaze to see a small, crumpled form on the dais. Castiel broke out into a run, Jimmy on his heels.

It was Sophia, her body covered in bruises and her ivory wings shredded around her. Castiel dropped to one knee beside her, lifting her head up off the floor. Jimmy went down on her other side, moving one damaged wing out of the way. "Is she alive?" he demanded.

"Barely," Castiel replied. "Sophia? Sophia, can you hear me?"

She opened her eyes, immediately focusing on Castiel's face. One shaking hand came up to clutch the lapel of his coat.

"Who did this to you?" Castiel demanded.

Sophia reached out with her other hand, fingers trembling as she traced a glowing sigil onto the golden floor. A deep growl rumbled from Castiel's chest. "_Raphael_," he spat.

"Why would he do this?" Jimmy asked, checking the female angel for more serious injury.

"Archives are absolutely non-violent," Castiel replied angrily. "She wouldn't have even been able to defend herself. He was punishing her for supporting me."

"Then she can't stay here," Jimmy said immediately, offering Sophia a tight smile when she gave him a grateful look. "We need to take her somewhere safe."

Castiel nodded in agreement, gathering his sister up in his arms and rising to his feet. He paused while Jimmy carefully folded her injured wings into place. "This is Raphael's first move," he said as they made their way from the Hall. "To attack a defenseless sibling in cold blood. The war has begun."

XxxXxxX

Bobby was contemplating a whiskey bottle. He'd been reaching out to every hunter he knew, making sure they were all right and getting a report as to the supernatural situation. Apparently, in the last three days anything nasty had abruptly gone underground. Demon possessions had all but vanished, ghosts were lying low, and monsters had decided to take a long weekend. On the surface it might look like a good thing, but for over two decades Bobby's life had been focused on figuring out when the other shoe was going to drop. He wasn't going to celebrate just yet.

There was a whine from the floor at his feet and he looked down. Crow was staring up at him with mournful brown eyes. Bobby sighed and reached down to ruffle the dog's ears. "Yeah, I'm worried about them, too," he muttered to the dog. Crow thumped his tail at the sound of his voice.

Bobby got to his feet and headed toward the kitchen, passing the folded wheelchair that hadn't yet made it to the basement. The coffee pot was empty, so Bobby started another. He was used to long days with no sleep, worrying about Dean and Sam. Now he had twice as many idjits to loose sleep over.

Crow started barking from the living room and Bobby stiffened, reaching for the shotgun on the kitchen table. Crow didn't bark except when he felt threatened, but no supernatural enemy could get past the wards without shattering them, and Bobby hadn't heard them break. Raising the shotgun, Bobby edged through the dining room and peered into the library.

A woman stood by his desk, looking around. She wore a white blouse under a black coat, and her bright red hair was loose around her shoulders. At her side stood a small child, nine or ten years old. It was impossible to tell the child's gender as it was dressed in a pair of white scrubs printed with teddy bears and its head was completely bald.

The woman glanced over in Bobby's direction, her blue-green eyes finding him unerringly. "Bobby Singer," she greeted. "My name is Anna. Cas sent me."

Bobby frowned and stepped into the open. "Last I heard your name, it wasn't in a very friendly manner," he pointed out.

Anna looked slightly sheepish. "Things have changed since then," she said. "I work for Cas now."

"Can you prove it?" Bobby challenged.

"He gave me the key to your wards," she offered.

Bobby had to give her that. Cas had set the wards up himself with his new archangel powers. He'd assured Bobby nothing would get through without his approval. "What do you want?" Bobby finally asked. Anna looked down at the kid whose hand she was still holding.

"This is our sister, Sophia," she introduced. "She needs somewhere safe to recover where Raphael will not find her."

Bobby took another look at the kid. Her eyes and cheeks were sunken and her skin was almost translucent, the blue veins traced over her skull clearly visible. "What happened to her?"

"Raphael attempted to kill her because she witnessed Castiel's claim of authority," Anna said darkly. "Sophia is not a soldier. It was a despicable action. Your home is the safest location on earth. She should be able to heal in peace here."

Bobby set the shotgun down. "Fine. But don't expect me to play nursemaid. I've been told my bedside manner is terrible."

Sophia smiled faintly, brown eyes lighting up. Bobby eyed her again. "So what's your story?" he asked. "Why the kid?"

The little angel's smile vanished and she looked up at Anna expectantly. "The vessel was suffering from terminal leukemia," Anna explained. "She would have died within a few weeks. She agreed to host Sophia in exchange for healing."

"And her family's not gonna miss her?" Bobby asked, raising an eyebrow.

"She is an orphan," Anna replied softly.

"Huh," Bobby grunted. He looked at Sophia. "Do you talk?" Anna looked horrified at the blunt question, but Sophia only shook her head, her expression tolerant. "Ya need anything?" Sophia thought for a moment and then shivered involuntarily. Bobby sighed and fetched a blanket from the couch, wrapping it around the child's bony shoulders. Sophia clutched it tightly with delicate fingers. "How long 'til she's back to strength?" he asked Anna.

"Raphael wounded her severely, but being in a vessel will accelerate her healing," the angel replied. "A week, no more."

Bobby nodded and looked back at Sophia. "You can have the other guest bedroom. And don't try the whole 'angels don't sleep' thing. I've seen enough injured angels to know better."

Sophia smiled again, and the gratitude was unmistakable in her eyes.

XxxXxxX

There was no way of telling time in hell. Mary's watch had frozen at ten forty-three, the moment they'd crossed through the Devil's Gate. Mallory's internal clock, skewed due to having an angel living in her head on and off for the past four months, was useless as well. John was of the opinion that time was meaningless at this point.

But Mallory still insisted on taking a break. They'd picked a shallow cave no more than ten feet deep, set off the path and defensible should anything attack. They'd so far avoided any more confrontations with pre-demons or demons themselves, though there had been a few close calls.

Mallory sat in the back of the hollow, elbows resting on knees and head cradled in her hands. Mary crouched next to her and rested a hand between her shoulder blades. "Are you all right?" she asked softly.

The girl nodded. "Yeah. Just getting a little crowded in here again," she said, pressing her fingers to her temple. She twitched her head, blinking hard. "I'm starting to remember more...I just need a couple of hours, that's all."

"Okay. If you need anything else, let me know," Mary told her, and went to the mouth of the cave. John joined her a moment later.

"What's wrong with her?" he asked, nodding over at Mal. "We should be moving."

"It's a long story," Mary said after a moment's hesitation.

"If she can't keep up, she shouldn't have come," John went on, lowering his voice. "We can't afford to waste time."

"She'll be fine, John," Mary told him sharply. "She's gone through a lot over the last couple of days, that's all." John stared at her expectantly, arms crossed over his chest. Mary rubbed her eyes. "She used to be the vessel of an angel," she explained wearily. "They were fighting to help us stop the Apocalypse. At the end, Lucifer tortured Mal's angel. She's only alive because the angel suicided before Lucifer could kill them both."

An unreadable look flickered across John's face. "What about you?" he asked gruffly. Mary looked at him. "Are you all right?" he clarified.

Mary's face darkened. "No. I saw it happen. Dean and Sam as Michael and Lucifer. I saw them fall into the Cage."

"Mary," John said, hesitating before reaching for her. She jerked from his grasp.

"We could have stopped it, John," she said angrily. "All of it. Everything that happened to our boys...it's all our fault." She raked a hand through her hair. "I made a deal with the Yellow-eyed demon. I traded Sam for you. And then you... You had to turn Dean and Sam into soldiers to fight your war for revenge. We just can't let each other go, can we, John? We just keep fighting long after it's too late."

Her anger abruptly fled and she slumped, burying her face in her hands. She felt John's hand on her shoulder, familiar, comforting. Almost against her will she turned and sagged against him, instinctively seeking out his support. He wrapped his arms around her, tucking her head under his chin. He held her until she stopped shaking, until her breathing returned to normal. She pulled away and poked him in the chest with one finger.

"This isn't over," she warned him. "We've still got a lot to work through."

"I know," he replied, his voice apologetic. "After we get our boys back."

"After we get our boys back," she agreed.


	3. Chapter 3

Mallory lay flat on her stomach, her cheek pressed to the rough, red stone. Mary was curled up on her side next to her, huddled awkwardly against the rock wall. John crouched over both women, peering past the boulders hiding them. Nobody dared move for fear of making noise. Mallory breathed through her mouth, tasting the gritty stone dust on her tongue. She wished she could block her ears against the screams emanating from only a few yards away.

She shifted to ease the pressure from a stone under her hip and John's hand fell heavy on her back, warning her to remain still. Mal winced and stopped moving, resigning herself to the discomfort. Mary touched her hair briefly and their eyes met. Mary gave her an encouraging smile.

Mal grimaced again at the pain in her hip and tried to distract herself. Unfortunately, the only other thing she could think about was the pain centered under her breastbone. It was constant, throbbing, and impossible to ignore. Of anything that could have come from inheriting Amitiel's Grace, this was the last she expected.

The screams began to fade, or at least, the nearest ones did. There was still the constant background chaos. John removed his hand from Mal's back and she immediately pushed herself up off the offending rock. She leaned around the rock to get a look at the demons retreating down the path, carrying the human souls deeper into the Pit.

"Let's not cut it that close again," Mary muttered, unfolding from her cramped position.

"Seconded," Mallory said, rubbing the sore spot above her leg.

"We shouldn't have missed those," John said scowling. "We can't afford to be sloppy. One wrong move and it's over."

"Well, they didn't see us, so it's fine," Mary replied, stretching her muscles. They may not need to eat or drink (or sweat), but they were still more than capable of getting sore. Mal stood over the edge of the path and looked down. Either she was getting braver, or becoming desensitized to the vertigo-inducing height.

"We're almost to the first terrace," she reported. "I don't like this."

"If you want to move faster, then I'm all for it," John said dryly.

Mal frowned. "No. Not that. It's just... We're in hell. Getting around down here shouldn't be this easy."

"Easy?" Mary echoed, raising an eyebrow. "We got attacked right after arriving and we've narrowly avoided more confrontations at least a dozen times."

"I still don't like it," Mal replied, frowning harder. "I've got a bad feeling."

"It's not like we can turn back," Mary pointed out.

"I know," Mal said, still not happy. But the feeling still prickled along her skin like static before a storm.

"You're probably just jumpy," John said briskly, checking the Colt before setting down the path. "It's understandable, given the circumstances."

Mal scowled at his back. "I'm not jumpy," she muttered angrily.

John only grunted without turning around and Mal scowled harder, fingering the silver chain around her neck. They fell into the same formation as before, John leading, Mal in the middle, and Mary bringing up the rear. John and Mary carried their weapons at the ready, but Mal kept her angel sword hidden. She could summon it with only a thought and she preferred not to take the risk of impaling herself or someone else should she trip.

The first terrace, when they reached it, proved to larger than it had looked from the top of the Pit. It was about half a mile wide and at least three long. John told them curtly that the path continued on the other end, forcing them to traverse the length of the terrace. They huddled for a moment behind a strange structure whose purposes Mal didn't want to imagine. Before them, demons scuttled back and forth between cross-shaped racks upon which human souls writhed in agony.

Mal turned away, unable to stomach the sight, and inhaled deeply through her nose. Like the height-sickness, the smell was becoming a distant distraction. Nausea twisted in her gut but she knew by now that her body was unable to purge. She fought to get her roiling stomach back under control.

"How the hell are we supposed to get past that?" Mary demanded.

John didn't reply for a long moment, watching the demons with narrow eyes. Then he turned to the women. "Rub dirt into your clothes," he ordered. They stared at him blankly. "Try to make it look like you belong here. Dirt, and blood."

It took them a few minutes to meet John's approval, and afterward they looked thoroughly bedraggled, dirt and blood smearing their skin as well as their clothing. Mal wiped the blood from her sword onto her jeans and dismissed it with a twist of her wrist. It would be far too out of place in hell. John tucked the Colt out of sight in his jacket.

"We can't walk together," he told them in a low voice. "Souls that step off the rack usually aren't too friendly with each other. Stay in sight. Don't look any demon in the face and don't say anything. Keep your eyes down and keep moving and you shouldn't be bothered. And whatever you do, don't react to anything, understand?"

Mal and Mary nodded jerkily, both of them pale under the dirt and blood. John rose from his crouch, waited a few moments, and then stepped out into the open. The two women held their breath, watching anxiously, but John didn't seem to attract notice, shuffling between the racks with his head down. As he passed the first one, he swiped a curved blade, holding it visible in one hand.

Mary nudged Mal and the younger woman swallowed nervously before getting to her feet and edging out of shelter. She ducked her head and dragged her feet, moving parallel to John's path but not right behind him. She passed the first rack and turned her face away as much as she dared. Following John's example, she snatched up the closest implement she could grab, a straight razor that was still slick with blood.

Mal forced herself to stare at the ground directly in front of her, resisting the urge to check for her companions. Her skin felt like it would crawl off her body and her ears wanted to bleed from the screams and worse noises surrounding her. It felt like an eternity, passing between the racks.

A pre-demon shot out in front of Mallory, nearly causing her to trip. She reached out to grab the closest object to catch her fall and found her hand closing over metal. Her head jerked up. She was holding onto the edge of a rack, a nearly unrecognizable human soul stretched over it. The soul's tormentor had paused, blade half in the soul's chest, and was staring straight at Mal.

The demon looked, at first glance, human, but Mallory's mind still revolted at the sight. Its eyes were too large and solid black, mouth too wide and lipless. Its dead-colored skin was stretched too tightly over its bones and its joints were twisted and sharp. It tilted its head to an impossible angle, never taking its eyes off Mal.

Mal stared back, not daring to move or breath, unable to rip her gaze away. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Mary freeze, and then begin to creep closer. Mal's heart thundered in her chest and ears and she wondered if the demon could hear it, if it would betray her for a living being trespassing in this graveyard of souls.

Then the demon turned back to the soul under its knife, cutting deeper with a renewed surge of blood. Mal forced herself to exhale slowly and released her hold on the rack, pushing away. Her heart still raced but Mal noticed the lack of an adrenaline thrill.

When she finally reached the other end of the terrace, Mal didn't see the path at first. She paused at the edge, looking around in confusion and wondering where John went, when she heart a rustle to her left. She whirled around to face the Pit wall, and saw the narrow cave mouth. John stood just inside. He stepped aside to let her squeeze by him. When she got through, Mal realized that it wasn't a cave; it was a tunnel, rough and cramped. The same hellish red glow lit the interior as illuminated the Pit.

Mary arrived a few moments later, panting slightly. Like the others, she'd selected a tool to carry as part of her disguise, a rusted metal hook that she dropped as soon as she was out of sight of the terrace. "Holy _hell,_" she gasped. "I didn't think we were going to make it."

Mal tossed aside the straight razor and shivered. "Yeah, me neither."

John jerked his thumb over his shoulder. "The path to the next terrace is through these tunnels. We'll be safer once we get further in."

After a few hundred yards, the cramped tunnel widened into a low passage. There were long niches hacked into the walls at regular intervals, but the dark shadows made it hard to tell what was inside them until Mal paused and crouched down for a better look. She jumped backward with a muffled yelp, falling hard onto her backside. Mary stooped to help her up.

"What _are_ those?" Mal demanded, her eyes still fixed on the twisted shape within the niche.

"Pre-demons are stashed here to incubate until they emerge as full demons," John replied in a low voice.

"We saw demons. That was _not_ one," Mallory protested in a whisper, finally tearing her eyes away from the recess.

"That's its true form," John told her. "The more powerful they are, the more they look human." He nodded further down the passage. "As long as we don't disturb them, they won't wake up." He set off again and Mallory followed, making sure to stay in the middle, away from the hollows on either side. It was a catacomb, she realized, with tombs filled with temporary occupants. She shivered. She did not want to be around when the "incubation" was over.

No one spoke as they followed John through the winding tunnels. He stuck to the largest passage, ignoring the side branches that attracted darkness like water flowing downhill. Mallory tried counting her footsteps to see how far they'd gone but lost count somewhere north of two thousand and gave up.

_...Odipvran teloah cacrg oisalman..._

Mallory's head jerked up even though she knew the voice had come from within her own head, whispering as if the speaker stood just out of sight. She reached up to rub her forehead, squeezing her eyes shut.

_Niiso bagle avavago gohon..._

"Dammit," she muttered, pressing both hands to her temples. She _knew_ the words, recognized their meaning, just as she _knew_ things she had never experienced. The lines of the Enochian prayer continued to unspool in her head despite her efforts to suppress it.

_Filii tenebras insurgere...Cave devorantem..._

Another voice joined the first, muttering darkly in her ears. A third spoke, and then a fourth. Then her head was full of voices, hundreds of memories beginning to overlap. Mallory knew what was coming next. In a few minutes, the images would start, a wave of foreign recollections that didn't belong to her.

When the first flashback struck, Mallory stumbled and almost fell, grinding to a halt in the tunnel. "Not now," she almost whined, gripping her head in both hands. "Come _on,_ this isn't fair."

The stream of images mostly didn't make sense, but occasionally one would linger for a fraction of a second, and Mallory would recognize it somehow. It was never much. Sunlight, blowing sand, brown eyes, fire, wings, blood, paper, leaves, water...on and on.

_Burning building, running, child in her arms...Dark tent, smell of incense, a woman crying...Dark water, stretching from horizon to horizon...The rush of flying, wind blowing, weightless...One among millions, voices singing, light shining...Darkness, blood, screams, taste of bitterness..._

"Mallory!" Mary's urgent whisper sliced through the barrage. "_Mal_!"

Mal sucked in a deep breath for the first time in what felt like hours, her eyes flying open. She was lying on the ground, curled in the fetal position with her arms protecting her head. Mary crouched over her, John standing behind his wife. They were both staring down at her.

"Mal?" Mary asked, resting her hand on Mal's shoulder. "You okay?"

"Yeah," Mal rasped from a dry throat. "Sorry."

"What the hell was that about?" John demanded, looking more annoyed at the delay than concerned about the girl. Mary shot him a dark look.

"I can't control it," Mal mumbled defensively. "I don't know how."

"Control what?" Mary asked, helping Mallory to sit up.

"Ami's memories," the girl replied. "They don't belong there and it's hard to separate myself from them. I forget which one's me."

"You have an angel's memories?" John asked dubiously.

Mallory rubbed her aching head. "Yeah. Apparently it goes along with having her Grace. 'S fun. Try it sometime."

"Can you walk?" Mary cut in. "This isn't exactly the best place to take a break."

Mal got shakily to her feet. "How long was I out?"

"Just a few minutes," the older woman assured her.

"I think I'm okay now," Mal said, gently disengaging her arm from Mary's grasp.

"Good," John said brusquely. "We need to keep moving."

Mal scowled at what was rapidly becoming John's refrain and clawed her fingers through her hair, shaking free the caked dirt. "Then let's get moving," she replied coolly. Mary glanced between the girl and her husband and sighed faintly.

They walked until Mallory began to get sick of being underground. She'd never been claustrophobic, but the weight of the earth seemed to press down atop them. The ambient light was becoming unreliable, flickering wildly in some places and absent for long stretches of tunnel where they had to feel their way blindly through the darkness.

It was in one of these dark stretches that they first heard the noise. They froze at first, hands still resting on each others shoulders, grips tightening involuntarily. They strained to listen over the rough sound of their own breathing.

It was a wet, gulping, tearing noise, interspersed with something else it took Mal a moment to identify as chewing. And it was coming from directly in front of them. John began walking again, forcing Mal and Mary to follow lest they lose him in the darkness. The red light gradually returned after a few hundred feet, allowing them to see ahead of them.

In the mouth of a side passage, three pre-demons crouched over a human soul. As Mal watched, the pre-demons tore at the soul with their teeth, ripping off hunks of meat to chew noisily. Mal could see the soul's face, the wide-open eyes filled with terror and agony, and the hollow gap where the soul's throat once had been, silencing its screams.

One of the monsters paused, blood dripping from its mouth, and turned its head towards the trio of trespassers standing no more than ten yards away. The hollows where its eyes should have been seemed to stare directly at them. The slits of its nostrils quivered as it sniffed loudly, baring crimson-smeared teeth.

For a long moment no one moved, not daring to provoke the pre-demons. Then the monster turned back to its victim and resumed feeding. John, Mary, and Mallory exchanged nervous looks and edged forward. None of the pre-demons payed them any more notice. They drew even with the monsters and passed them. John dropped past the women to keep himself between them and the pre-demons. Mary put her hand to the hilt of the Knife stuck through her belt.

The blue-beaded rosary wrapped around her wrist chose that moment to slither off and drop to the ground, landing as if was a hundred times its true weight, burying itself partway into the red dirt. The three humans froze again, cringing.

The pre-demons' heads snapped up, faces turned toward the human intruders. Mal swallowed as the monsters moved away from the half-devoured soul, inching toward the trio on all fours. Mary crouched slowly without taking her eyes off the pre-demons. She groped around in the dirt for a moment before her fingers came in contact with the rosary. She scooped it up easily despite its landing, clutching it tightly in her fist. She rose cautiously and took a step backwards.

That seemed to be an invisible signal. The pre-demons lunged forward with blood-curdling howls. John met the first one with the curved knife he had kept, plunging the blade into the creature's bony chest. Mal summoned her sword just in time to have the second pre-demon slam into her, knocking her off her feet. Mal landed and rolled away from her attacker, directly into one of the niches. She body-checked the hibernating demon but had little time to contemplate her actions before the pre-demon squeezed in after her, fingers closing around her throat. Mallory tried to bring her sword up only to have the confined space prevent her from defending herself.

She bucked wildly, trying to crush the pre-demon against the ceiling of the hollow but its fingers only tightened, completely cutting off her air. _It's not fair_, she thought distantly, _we don't need water, but we still need to breathe._ She managed to work her sword arm down far enough to stab at the monster, but she had no leverage, and the blow barely scratched its skin.

Just as her vision began to fade to black, the pre-demon gave a sudden yowl of pain and released her throat, recoiling off of her. Mal sucked in a deep breath and promptly began coughing. She still pushed forward out of the niche and thrust her sword with all her meager strength, driving the tip of the blade straight through the pre-demon's eyeless face.

As she collapsed back to the ground, struggling to draw air through her bruised throat, she noticed that the pre-demon had a burn on its palm in the exact shape of the medallion strung around her neck. She looked down. The necklace had worked its way outside her shirt and dangled in plain view.

"Awesome," she wheezed.

John kicked aside the decapitated head of one of the pre-demons and reached down to help Mary to her feet. Mary shook dark blood from the Knife before sliding it back into her belt. "Mal, you okay?" the older woman called, turning in the girl's direction.

Mal offered a thumbs-up but made no move to rise, continuing to drink air in like water despite its distasteful taint. John tossed the bodies of the pre-demons into the dark side-tunnel so as not to arouse suspicion should a full-blown demon pass by this way, despite the fact they'd encountered no one other than the three half-breed monsters.

She stayed on the ground for a few more minutes while John and Mary tested the rosary, dropping it several times to watch it fall like iron weights. John nudged it with the toe of his boot only to discover it refused to budge. Only when it was touched by their skin was it released from its sudden overabundance of gravity.

By this time Mal was feeling back to normal and pushed herself up to sitting, shaking the red dirt from her hair. She braced herself to stand and felt something cold and horribly strong clamp around her ankle, dragging her backwards.

She caught herself from face-planting and cried a warning before rolling over onto her back. She could see the niche she'd briefly entered and a dark, monstrous limb emerging from it, claws hooked in her pants. Mal stabbed with the sword she'd yet to dismiss, impaling the thing's wrist. A shriek sounded from the niche and the arm forcibly retracted, almost yanking Mallory's sword from her grasp. John and Mary were at her side in an instant, hauling her to her feet and hustling her down the tunnel away from the tomb. They paused a few yards off to turn and look back.

"Oh, my _God_," Mary whispered in horror.

Something was hauling itself laboriously out of the niche, something mind-numbingly horrific. It was made of putrid flesh and roiling darkness, body so twisted and malformed it was forced to creep along the ground. It turned its face toward the three human, a skull charred black and filled with writhing pupae. Its jaw fell open and a sound emerged from its throat, a nightmarish screeching wail.

Another demon began pulling itself free of its niche, and then a third. All down the passage, as far as they could see, demons slowly filled the tunnel, clinging to the walls and even the ceiling to make room for all of them.

"I think we should run, now," John said hoarsely.

"Yeah, good plan," Mal agreed instantly. They turned and bolted down the tunnel, catching glimpses of more demons stirring in their stone wombs as they passed. Behind them rose the voices of hundreds of angry—and no doubt hungry—demons.

They sprinted down the winding passageway as fast as their bodies would allow, breath rasping in their throats and eyes straining for any sign of freedom from the catacombs. But the tunnels stretched out for what seemed like an eternity, and every passing moment the demons gained a little ground.

And then the light disappeared.

John cursed loudly and Mal stumbled, crashing into him and nearly sending them both headlong. A burbling noise almost like laughter echoed through the stone passage, amplified by the darkness. John started moving again, dragging Mal when she didn't release her hold on his jacket. She flailed blindly behind her until her hand encountered warm flesh and she clamped on to Mary's wrist. They continued down the tunnel, their progress painfully slow, and were all too aware of the sound of many bodies dragging themselves along the rough sides of the catacomb.

_We're not going to make it._ The thought struck Mallory like a thrust to the heart, and she'd never been more afraid of dying in her entire life. It was one thing to face death from a swift sword, but another to contemplate one's demise by being devoured alive by a horde of new demons. _Ami, if there is anything in your memories that I could use, now would be the time_. The thought was more like a prayer, whispered to the dead out of abject fear.

And then it came to her, swimming to the surface out of the dark waters of Amitiel's legacy. Mallory didn't hesitate, but took a deep breath and yelled, "_Micaloz!_"

Green-gold light flared into existence, surrounding the three humans like a bubble. A demon, reaching out with its claws just brushing Mary's hair, recoiled with a shriek of agony as its flesh burned. It withdrew back into the darkness, thwarted. The sound of advancement stopped, but there was still a nauseous rustling as the demons moved, invisible.

Mallory stood frozen, blinking stupidly with her chest heaving from exertion. She looked around at their tiny circle of protection, completely bemused.

"Mal?" Mary whispered. "Did you do this?"

"I think so," she whispered back.

"How?"

"I have no freakin' clue."

"However you're doing it," John rumbled. "Don't stop. Come on."

They slowly backed away, and the light followed them, centered around Mallory. Beyond its edge, the demons advanced as they retreated, scuttling back and forth but never daring to enter the light itself. They picked up their pace once it seemed that the angelic light wasn't going to vanish, and were soon hurrying back down the tunnel.

Mallory felt like she'd been turned into a live wire. Electricity buzzed through her body and she was sure every hair was standing on end. The stench of hell had been replaced with rain and lightening, and she swore she could feel the phantom sensation of feathers against her skin. The light had a faint pulse to it, in time to her heartbeat, and when Mallory looked, she saw she cast no shadow. John and Mary did, but not her. That could only mean that she herself was the source of the light.

She was using the Grace Ami had given to her, and it felt _awesome._

The rest of the journey through the catacombs passed in a haze to Mal. It was as if she was on narcotic painkillers and she was riding the high, knowing that she'd eventually come down but not caring one bit. When they reached the mouth of the tunnel and stepped out into the open, it came as a complete surprise to her and she stood for a moment, staring out at the Pit. They were now more than half-way down, and the floor was easily visible. It was completely covered by jagged slabs of black, volcanic glass, shattered and lethally sharp.

John looked over his shoulder at the mouth of the tunnel. The new demons had followed them this far, and were still waiting eagerly. "Any idea how to deal with them?" he asked dryly.

"Give me a minute," Mallory said, her voice dreamy. She closed her eyes and scrunched her face up, venturing back to the banks of the mysterious waters of Amitiel's memories. They stretched like an ocean in her mind, forbidding an uninviting. She didn't dare enter them, but waited on the shore until the answer to her question came to her. She opened her eyes, twisted something in her mind, and took a long step sideways.

The light remained where it was, filling the tunnel mouth like a barricade. The demons set up an angry hissing, but they could not pass through the barrier of holy light. Mallory grinned at her own ingenuity. Then her eyes rolled up in the back of her head and she collapsed in a heap.

XxxXxxX

If Mal thought waking up after having one of Ami's flashbacks was painful, this was excruciating. But it wasn't just the pain, it was also the bone-deep, aching weariness the filled her entire body. She stirred fretfully, hoping to stretch muscles cramped from disuse, and discovered that she was being cradled to someone's chest, arms under her shoulders and knees.

Her eyes flew open. For a moment everything was blobby and fuzzy, but the world gradually came back into focus. It was John who was carrying her, her head resting against his shoulder as he picked his way down. Mary was leading now, carefully testing each step of the narrow, steep, crumbling path.

Mal blinked and tried to collect enough brain cells to formulate a though. "Ouch," she muttered plaintively what that proved too taxing. John looked down.

"About time you woke up," he said gruffly, but Mal thought she detected some tiny amount of relief in his voice. "Getting tired of carrying you." Despite his words, he made no move to put her down.

"Wh'r 'r we?" Mallory mumbled lifting a hand to massage her splitting head.

"Almost to the bottom," John replied.

She blinked again, tried to make a calculation, and quickly gave up. "H'w long 's I out?"

"Not sure. A day. Maybe two. How do you feel now?"

"Like sh't."

He chuckled quietly. "Not surprised. Your heart stopped for a good ninety seconds."

Her eyes widened. "Wha?"

"You hit the ground, you weren't breathing. We almost didn't think you were gonna pull through."

"CPR?" she asked, wrinkling her nose.

"Yeah. But I don't think that's what brought you back."

She frowned at him but he refused to look down at her.

"Your eyes were glowing," Mary replied, looking back over her shoulder. "You opened your eyes and they were shining with this white light. Then you started breathing again."

Mal blinked again. "Holy crap."

They reached a place where the path widened slightly and John crouched to set Mallory down. He remained at her side, one hand supporting her back. "Think you can walk, or do you need to take it easy?"

Mal shifted her legs, testing the muscles. They were tight and cramped, but didn't feel weak. "I think I'll be okay," she said.

Mary knelt on Mal's other side. "Don't do that again," she said, her voice firm. "If you feel yourself pushing too far, back off."

The girl shook her head. "I _didn't_ feel like I was pushing too far. I felt great, right up until I passed out."

"Then you probably shouldn't use these...abilities...until you have a better idea of how far you can go," John said. Mal scowled.

"Not like we had much of a choice," she muttered.

"True," John agreed. "But next time it could kill you, and we can't afford to lose allies right now, okay?"

"Yeah, okay," Mal echoed reluctantly. She stuck out a hand. "Help me up."

They reached the bottom of the Pit a few hours later. They stood at the foot of the path, looking around at the jagged spires and pinnacles of obsidian spread out before them. It looked like a forest of shattered, razor-edged glass, impossible to see over the tops of the formations.

"So..." Mary darted a sidelong look at John. "Which way is the Cage?" she asked.

He frowned, digging the toe of one boot at the ground. The crumbly red clay had given way to black, crystalline sand that squeaked under their shoes. "My guess would be straight through," he replied, searching the slabs of glass for some semblance of path.

Mary sighed. "Typical Winchester response," she muttered. John gave her a sharp look but she shook her head, refusing to meet his eye. John stood for a moment, his expression sour, and then he set off toward the glass structures. When they got closer, they saw that there was room to squeeze between them if you were extremely careful to avoid the edges. Mal reached out to touch one as she inched past it and felt the layers of her skin part at even the slightest pressure. She jerked her hand back to see a few drops of crimson swell from her fingertip before the wound closed.

"Don't trip," she told the others. "These things are sharp enough to cut you in half."

They ducked, dodged, squeezed, edged, and crawled through the deadly labyrinth, but despite their caution, they quickly amassed a collection of thin slices that stung worse than paper cuts. Mary who stumbled from weariness and sore muscles, and reached out to catch herself on instinct. Mal watched in horror, unable to reach the other woman in time, as Mary's hand approached the edge of a glass spire. But instead of her palm meeting the cutting edge, her wrist impacted first, and the rosary beads wrapped thereon shattered the obsidian.

Mal ducked when a flying shard of glass sliced across her cheek. When she looked again, Mary was standing solidly again, staring at the gap in the spire's surface where the rosary had hit. John had turned to see what the commotion was, just in time to see Mary unwrap the rosary and tap it against the spire's black surface.

Flakes of glass slid off, landing in the sand with a merry tinkle. "That was unexpected," Mary finally said.

"Is it just the rosary, or can the medal do that, too?" John demanded.

Mal mentally cursed herself for her stupidity. The pendant hanging around her neck was consecrated, too. She hurriedly slid it off and swung it at the nearest slab. The silver hit the obsidian and a spiderweb of cracks radiated out from where it had impacted. "That," she observed. "Is awesome."

"That helps matters a little," John said with a faint grin. "We can take out the worst obstructions." He was right. Being able to shatter the obsidian at will greatly increased their progress, though they learned quickly that the utmost caution was necessary. They lost at least half an hour to bandage the wound in John's forearm.

"Do you think it'll get infected?" Mary asked worriedly.

John blinked at her. "Mary, I'm dead," he reminded her gently. "We don't have to worry about that anymore."

"Oh. Right." A strange look passed over her face and she turned away quickly, scrubbing John's blood off her hands and onto her jeans.

They stopped to rest twice, knowing the dangers of becoming overly-tired in this extremely inhospitable environment. Crouching awkwardly in the tiny spaces between slabs of glass, Mallory did her best to rummage through the scattered contents of her head, relegating everything of Ami's into the dark lake. It was a somewhat creepy mental image, but it worked, so she shrugged and went with it. Standing too long on the shores of the lake was dangerous, as the voices would begin and memories surfaced. She tried her best to ignore it.

Mallory had long ago given up any hope of trying to keep any semblance of time in the Pit when she eased around one spire and stepped out into an open space. She froze in surprise, staring around. John and Mary had already reached the clearing. It was a band, floored with more of the black sand, and stretched out to either side as far as they could see. In the distance it almost seemed to curve inward, suggesting that it was part of a giant circle.

The band was only about twenty feet wide. On the other side of it... Towers of obsidian clawed into the air, far over the tops of the rest of the glass spires. They were evenly spaced, perfectly placed in a wall that looked to encompass a vast amount of space. The distant tops of the towers were deadly points that curved inward. Strands of lightning danced from point to point, forming a force field over the interior of the enclosed area.

Mallory swallowed convulsively.

"I think we found the Cage," Mary said hoarsely.

XXXXXXX

Enochian translations:

_Odipvran teloah cacrg oisalman—_and shall not see death

_Niiso bagle avavago gohon—_come away, for the thunders have spoken

_Micaloz—_mighty light

Latin translation:

_Filii tenebras insurgere...Cave devorantem—_the child of darkness rises...beware the devourer


	4. Chapter 4

Mallory suddenly broke free of her stupor and ran forward. She skidded to a halt and caught herself against one of the towers. It was smooth and reflective as a mirror, carved in a perfect square. The gap between this tower and the next was just wide enough for her to squeeze through, but before she could attempt it, John grabbed her and pulled her back.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" he demanded harshly, twisting her around to face him.

"Sam is on the other side," she snapped back. "He's close; I can _feel_ him."

John frowned at her, puzzled, but Mal forestalled further questions by breaking away from him and bolting for the Cage again. This time she managed to squeeze between the towers. Her brain was screaming at her foolishness, but the pull of the Mark was now irresistible. Sam was close, he was in pain, and she had to get to him.

She stepped away from the wall of the Cage and surveyed the landscape in front of her. It was dark, shadowy, and impossible to make out more than a few yards. The ground under her feet was the same black, crystalline sand and far, far overhead the lightning danced without illuminating the scene.

"Mal!"

She turned around at the sound of her name and saw Mary pull herself free from between two of the towers. Mary stepped over to her side and scowled down at her. "Did you even have a plan or were you just going to throw yourself in and hope for the best?"

Mal declined to answer and looked past Mary to John. The man would obviously not fit through the barricade and Mal realized that would be a problem in getting Dean and Sam out. "Can we widen the gap?" she asked.

Mary, still scowling, turned and considered the wall. "We can try," she conceded. Using the medallion and the rosary, they chipped away at the obsidian pillars. It was incredibly time consuming and tedious work. Mary and Mal both had numerous cuts on their hands once they were done, but there was an opening large enough for John to pass through. He stepped toward it, and stopped cold.

"What are you waiting for?" Mal asked. "Let's go."

John frowned and tried to press forward. "I can't...there's something here." He lifted his hand and tried to reach toward the two women, only the meet some kind of invisible resistance. "It won't let me through."

Mary and Mal exchanged looks. "Why can we go through, then?" Mal asked after a moment of confusion.

"I have no idea," Mary replied with a shrug. "The only difference between us is..." she trailed off, looking suddenly uneasy.

"Is that I'm dead," John finished quietly. "It makes sense. They wouldn't want souls interfering with the Cage. I'm guessing demons can't make it through, either."

"John," Mary began, reaching through the opening toward him. He took her hand and squeezed it with a reassuring smile.

"Go," he told her softly. "Get our boys. I'll be waiting for you."

Mary nodded and pulled away from the opening, returning to Mal's side. "You know the way to go?" she asked.

Mal paused for a moment, and then pointed straight into the Cage. "That way," she said confidently.

Mary gave John one last look. "All right. Let's go."

They set out into the darkness. Within a few steps, John was lost to them. The visibility continued to be only a few yards; it was like walking through thick, black fog. For a long time, the only sound was the squeak of sand underneath their feet and their own breathing.

Then it started.

A low, bubbling growl sounded from somewhere to Mal's left. Her blood ran cold when she instantly recognized the sound. She spun toward it, trying to pierce through the darkness to see the source. Mary paused beside her, placing a hand on Mal's shoulder.

"What is it?" the older woman asked softly.

"Didn't you hear that?" Mal hissed back.

"Hear what?"

"Hellhounds," Mal replied, summoning her sword. The silver metal gleamed faintly in the dim light, and its warm weight was a deep comfort to Mal.

Mary listened for a moment. "I don't hear anything," she told the girl.

Mal hesitated. "Maybe John was right. I'm just jumpy." But she didn't dismiss her sword.

They continued on in silence, the Mark leading the way. Then the growl came again, followed by an angry snarl and the sound of razor-sharp talons scraping through the sand. Mal jerked to a halt. "You _had_ to have heard that," she snapped.

Mary shook her head. "There's nothing out there, Mal."

Mallory scowled. "Fantastic. Now I'm hallucinating."

Mary narrowed her eyes. "That actually might be the Cage," she said slowly. Mal stared at her. "Look around you. We're in the lowest part of hell. No fire, no racks... Maybe the torment is psychological. Hellhounds terrify you. It's playing on your fears."

Mal's eyes widened. "Awesome," she said. "Yeah. This is gonna be fun."

It only took a few minutes after that for the growling and snarling to start again. Mal did her best to ignore it, but her heart pounded in her chest and her skin crawled. Every instinct screamed at her to run away as phantom pain flared up her back and across nonexistent wings.

Then Mary flinched. Mal instantly went alert. "What is it?" she demanded.

"I see..." Mary started, hesitated, and tried again. "I can see fire over there," she said, pointing off to the side. "The smell..."

Of course Mary would be afraid of fire. Mallory touched her arm. "It's not real," she reminded her. Mary nodded tightly.

The sound of the hellhounds gradually faded, much to Mal's relief. She had just begun to relax when a figure stepped out of the darkness, visible just in the corner of her eye. Mal let out a stifled cry and whirled around only to be confronted by nothing. Her heart still hammered as visceral fear thrilled through every nerve.

She'd known that figure. It's been the man who'd kidnapped her what felt like a lifetime ago, who'd held her captive in a dark basement, who'd hurt her until she was so desperate that she'd accepted Amitiel without a second thought. The man who the only reason Mal hadn't had nightmares of was because Amitiel had soothed her dreams.

Mallory forced her breathing to even out, forced herself to regain her calm. Mary was staring at her expectantly. "I'm okay," she muttered, and started walking again, keeping her eyes on the ground directly in front of her. She'd taken three steps when the darkness closed in completely. She ground to a halt. "Crap."

"Mal?" Mary asked, and Mal felt the older woman's hand on her arm. "What's wrong?"

"What's wrong?" Mal repeated. "The freakin' lights went out. I can't see anything." Mary was silent for a long time and realization abruptly dawned on Mal. "It's just me, isn't it?" she asked softly.

"Yeah," Mary replied tersely.

Mallory closed her eyes and refused to allow herself to react. It was temporary, she told herself. It was just this place messing with her. Besides, it didn't matter. She could feel the pull of the Mark as clear as a pointing compass. She still knew where she needed to go. She gripped her sword tighter and kept going, grimly determined. When Mary's footsteps faltered and she gasped faintly, Mal waited until the woman began walking again, but didn't ask what she'd seen.

Time passed. Every now and again Mal would hear the hellhounds again. A few times she heard voices, laughter. She recognized Marax, long dead, and Meg, unfortunately still alive. She heard the dragging, shuffling sound of the newborn demons from the tunnel, and smelled sulfur mixed with burning flesh and smoke.

Then the screaming started.

It was her own voice, raw and agonized. Mal clapped her hands over hear ears but the sound still penetrated. She ground to a halt and screwed her eyes shut, not that it made a difference. Beside her, Mary groaned under her breath.

"We need to keep moving," Mary said, taking hold of Mal's wrist and tugging her hand away from her ear. "We can't let it get to us."

"Yeah," Mal agreed tightly. After a moment, Mal heard Mary's voice join the screams, and then John's. Mary flinched hard at the last one, but they knew that John was safe on the other side of the Cage wall. Well, safe as one could be in hell.

The screams stopped as if someone threw a switch. Mal was so startled she missed her step and stumbled, almost falling. Only Mary's hold on her arm kept her from face-planting on the sand. She felt no relief from the reprieve, only apprehension for the next mind game.

The next scream that ripped through the darkness stopped Mallory's heart cold. "_Sam_," she whispered, and bolted in the direction the scream had come from, despite the pull of the Mark in the opposite direction. She yanked her arm out of Mary's grasp, ignoring the other woman's cry of warning.

Mallory heard another scream and hurried headlong despite her blindness, trusting that there was no obstructions in front of her. That was why she tripped and hit the ground hard enough to scrape her palms when she caught herself. She turned over and reached out to see what she had tripped over, groping blindly until her hand encountered cloth.

Her breath caught in her throat and she ran her fingers further over the object. Cloth, seams, buttons...it was unmistakably a body. Mal snatched her hand away with a stifled sob but rolled up onto her knees, reaching out once more. Her searching hand finally encountered skin, a throat. The head was turned away from her and she tilted it to face her. Steeling herself, she traced her fingers over the forehead, down the nose and across the cheekbones.

Another sob ripped free of her throat. She recognized this face. It'd been the first one she memorized after she'd been blinded.

Mary found her some time later, arms wrapped around her knees and rocking back and forth, staring straight ahead. The older woman knelt in front of Mal and took her hands in her own. "Mal," she said softly. "Whatever it is you heard, whatever it is you saw, it's not real. All right?" When the girl didn't respond, Mary dropped one of her hands and touched her cheek. "Say it for me. It's not real."

"It's not real," Mallory replied mechanically. Mary helped her to her feet.

"Are you going to be all right?" Mary asked. Mal nodded again, her eyes still blankly forward. Mary waved her fingers in front of Mal's face, but there was no reaction. Mary sighed. Mal's sight hadn't come back. "All right," Mary said. "Focus. Which way?"

Mallory finally blinked and her head tilted, then turned. She pointed. "There...I think."

"You think?" Mary echoed apprehensively.

The girl blinked again. "No, I'm sure. They're over there."

"Okay then. Let's keep moving."

"You're starting to sound like John," Mal complained, falling into step with Mary.

"There are occasions, very few and far between, that he is right," Mary replied dryly, teasing a very faint smile from the girl.

Something massive shot by overhead, huge and bright and hot. It smashed into the ground about a hundred feet from them with enough force to knock them both to the ground. Heated sand sprayed them like tiny shards of fire, burning any exposed skin. The two women huddled together on the ground, protecting their faces.

After the sound of the impact faded, two high-pitched tones pierced the air. They could feel the ground beneath them vibrate from the noise. Mal clapped her hands over her ears but it didn't help. She thought she might have been screaming, but she couldn't hear her own voice over the sound. Then it was gone.

Mal uncoiled slowly, her ears still ringing. When she sat up and blinked, she realized her vision had come back. Mary lifted her head beside her.

"What the _hell_ was that?" the older woman demanded.

Mal pointed wordlessly ahead of them. A crater had been blasted in the ground, the sand melted into rippled, black glass. "That was Michael and Lucifer," she said hoarsely. "I recognized their voices."

"Well, they don't seemed very pleased with each other," Mary observed. She got stiffly to her feet, brushing sand from her clothes. When she reached down to Mal, the girl met her halfway. "You can see?" she asked.

"Yeah," Mal said, nodding. "Good as new."

"Well, let's get to Dean and Sam before the archangels turn their attention elsewhere." Mary pulled Mal to her feet. They skirted the glassy crater and kept moving. Mal wasn't sure how long they'd been in the Cage, but if she had to guess, she'd say they were almost to the center.

They'd gone maybe two hundred yards when they saw the figures. Mal stopped and grabbed Mary's arm. "D'you see them, too?" she asked in a low voice.

Mary swallowed. "Yeah." They broke into a run at the same time, bolting toward the two prone shapes lying on the sand. Mal dropped to her knees, skidding to a halt, and almost fell on top of them in her haste.

If they were anywhere else, Mal would have called it cuddling, but here, in this place, it was nothing more than a desperate attempt to retain sanity. Mal grabbed Sam's shoulders and rolled him onto his back. "Sam," she called. "Hey, Sam."

Mary pulled Dean up off the ground and into her lap, cradling him as she brushed sand out of his hair. He struggled fitfully, turning his face away from her and pushing weakly. "It's okay," she murmured to him. "It's okay, Dean. It's me. I'm here."

Mal slapped Sam's cheek lightly. "Sam. Wake up. C'mon." He groaned and stirred but didn't open his eyes, still locked in whatever nightmare the Cage had trapped him in. "Goddammit, Sam. I need you to wake up."

He flinched and whimpered, a spasm of pain crossing his face. Mal hissed angrily between her teeth, breathed a prayer and hooked her finger in the collar of his t-shirt, pulling it down from his throat. To her intense relief, the Mark was visible just below his collar bone, glowing faintly in the darkness. She pressed her palm to the Mark, wincing at how cold his skin felt. A flash of warmth flared at the contact and raced up her arm to flood her body. She felt a sense of completeness, strangely out of place. Then all of the pain and fear rushed back with a vengeance.

Sam opened his eyes, pupils blown open until the swallowed the irises. He stared at her blankly for a long, silent moment. Then, "M'l?"

She offered him a weak smile, still struggling under the weight of his emotions. "Yeah. Hey."

He blinked at her, expression still empty. "No," he whispered. "You...you can't be here." One hand fumbled until it closed around her wrist and squeezed until it hurt. "You should be in heaven. You were supposed to be..." he trailed off, eyes drifting closed. Mal patted his cheek again.

"Sam. Stay with me," she ordered. He blinked his eyes open again. "Sam, it's okay. Lucifer didn't kill me. I survived. I came to get you out of here."

"You shouldn't have..." he mumbled, turning his face toward her hand.

"I promised, didn't I?" Mal said with another smile. "Come on. You need to get up. Can you do that for me?" She helped him sit up with a great deal of effort, Sam never releasing his hold on her wrist. She glanced over to see how Mary was doing, but Dean hadn't woken yet. Sam sat for a moment, his head down and his breathing heavy, and then he half turned and punched Dean in the shoulder.

"Dean," he called. "Come on. Wake up." Dean didn't respond. Sam punched him again. "Dean. C'mon man, I need you."

Dean sighed heavily. "Bitch, let me sleep," he mumbled.

"Look who's here, jerk," Sam replied.

Dean opened one eye and looked up at Mary. His other eye opened and he stared up at her. "Mom?" he asked in disbelief.

"Hi, sweetheart," Mary said, brushing the back of her hand along his cheek. Dean frowned and darted a suspicious look at Sam.

"They're real," his brother assured him. "They're really here."

Dean's frown turned into a dark scowl. "The fuck were you thinking?" he growled. He sat up, pushing away from his mother. "Why the hell you come after us? You were supposed to leave it alone, leave _us_ alone. It was supposed to end."

"Yeah, well, since when do Winchesters give up on family?" Mary asked, getting to her feet and offering Dean her hand. "We'd already go to hell for each other. Now we're just doing it literally. Come on. We need to move. The archangels could come back at any moment."

Dean's scowl didn't let up but her took Mary's hand and allowed her to help him to his feet. "You guys are fucking insane," he grumbled. Mary only laughed without much humor. Sam stumbled and Mal pulled him to his feet with little effort, much to her own surprise.

Dean looked around. "You know the way out of here?" he asked.

Mal quickly found her and Mary's footprints. "That way," she said, pointing. They started walking and Sam released Mal's wrist only to take her hand. Mal leaned against his side, her heart trying to leap out of her chest.

_We did it_, she thought exultantly. _We got them. We can do this. We can get out._

"How'd you even find us?" Dean asked, turning to look at the two women. Mary gave Mal an inquiring look.

"It's a long story," Mal said simply. "Tell you later. Let's get out of here first."

The way back to the Cage wall was no different than the trip in. More than once Mal's companions vanished, Sam's grip on her hand disappearing, only for her to turn around and see them there again. This time she actually caught sight of the hellhounds, stalking them at the edge of their visibility. Sam refused to say what it was he saw, but every so often he would flinch and tighten his hold on Mal's hand. Dean wasn't much better off. His breathing was heavy, eyes wide. He'd duck and jerk to the side without warning, calming only when Mary would place a hand on his arm and draw him back to the group.

Mal thought it would be better, having Sam with her. But proximity seemed to amplify the Mark, and she was feeling all of his fear and panic on top of her own. It wasn't long before she was barely able to put one foot in front of the other while every instinct screamed at her to run and find somewhere safe to hide. But there was nowhere safe in the Cage. Their only option was to get out.

There was no warning when the archangel descended. It was like having the sun land among them, and they had no choice but fling themselves to the ground, trying desperately, uselessly, to escape the overwhelming presence. Mal buried her face against Sam's shoulder, unable to block out the light and noise. Then she felt herself ripped away from him, flung onto her back. She opened her eyes on instinct and was immediately blinded by intense, white light. And then, through the light, she could make something out.

There was a face, three faces. The middle one pointed forward and had human features, but was far from human. Eyes of solid gold pierced her to her soul, pinning her in place. The right-side face was that of an eagle, and the left was a lion. A pair of ram's horns curled out from the halo of golden hair and a blue star shone between them. Flame-red wings formed a canopy around them, cutting them off from the others.

"**What have you done?**"

She heard Michael's voice with her ears, her mind, and every part of her body. It resonated through the air and the ground. There was no escaping it. She gasped for breath and could not respond, could do nothing to defend herself.

"**What are you?**" the archangel demanded. She could read no emotion from his face or his voice but still trembled with abject fear.

"I don't know," she forced out, no more than a whisper.

"**This does not belong to you.**" Michael's hand descended on her and he jabbed a finger straight through her chest, jarring in the bright ball of energy that nestled within her soul. She cried out in pain.

"It was a gift," she protested when she could speak again.

That made him pause, considering her for a long moment.

"**No,**" he said at length. "**Not a gift. A trust.**" His hand lifted but Mallory still could not rise. "**Why should I let you leave?**"

Mallory could think of no answer to that. It was all she could do to retain what little composure she had and not completely devolve into a gibbering mess.

"**Why do you deserve freedom?**" he continued relentlessly.

"I don't," Mallory whispered. The archangel blinked at her. "None of us do. But we'll never stop fighting. Not until you destroy us."

He was silent for another long moment. "**Do you give your oath?**"

Mallory gaped at him. "What?"

"**Do you give your oath to never cease fighting? To resist the armies of hell with all your strength?**"

"Yes," she said instantly. He touched her again, much gentler this time, on her forehead, then her chest, and finally her stomach.

"**Remember it is only a trust,**" he instructed, and then released her. "**Go.**" Then he whirled away from her and flung himself into the air, vanishing into the distance. Mal remained where he'd left her, flat on her back and sobbing for breath as tears poured down her cheeks. Then Sam was beside her, pulling her up into his arms. She buried her face against his neck and held him tightly until the shaking stopped and she could breathe normally again.

"What did he say?" Sam demanded when she was calmer. "What did he want?"

She shook her head. "I don't know. He—he wanted me to promise."

"Promise what?" Dean asked harshly from where he stood protectively over them.

"To keep fighting," Mal replied.

It took her a few moments more before she was able to walk. Michael's landing had destroyed the footprints leading them out, and they had to search in a wide circle before they found them again. A sense of urgency gripped them and they hurried along the trail, doing their best not to let the Cage's assaults slow them down.

A concussion wave struck them, forcing them all to stumble. Mal spun around, peripherally aware of the others doing the same. A shining figure was swooping toward them from overhead. Mal could just make out the three-fold face, too many hands, and a strange body through the brilliant light. Behind the figure spread six vast wings, blacker even than the darkness of the Cage.

Nobody knew who made the decision, but then they all were running, as if that would help them escape. But it was a visceral, animal reaction to the sight of Lucifer stooping over them. A wave of chill air washed over them and frost ran over the sand ahead of them. The icy air burned in Mal's lungs, each breath painful, but she forced herself to keep moving, keep going, because if she faltered...

With a cry that threatened to blow out the humans' eardrums, Michael slammed into Lucifer in midair, sending them tumbling to the ground with an earth-shaking crash. They struggled for a moment together, Michael retaining the upper hand, and then he grabbed hold of his brother and flung him away into the darkness.

"**Go!**" he thundered at the humans, and then dove after Lucifer, vanishing from view.

They didn't stop running, desperate now to be free of the Cage. Mallory cried with relief when she saw the wall rise up before them, and the gap they'd carved between the pillars. Mary reached it first, lunging through with no problem. Dean didn't hesitate to follow and he stepped over the threshold without incident. Mal tripped just as she reached the gap and stumbled, tucking herself into a roll so she passed easily through the gap.

Sam helped her to her feet on the other side. As soon as she was standing again, he pulled her close and covered her mouth with his. Mal was caught completely off-guard and didn't have time to respond before he pulled away. "Thank you," he murmured softly.

"Any time," she replied breathlessly, heart still hammering from their flight.

"Holy shit," Dean blurted from behind them. They both whirled around at the same time.

John was standing a few feet away, obviously startled by Dean's reaction. He was looking uncertainly between Dean and Mary, and then over at Sam. Mallory felt Sam's hold on her slacken and she looked up at his face. He was staring at John, eyes wide and expression blank. His jaw worked for a moment before he regained his voice.

"Dad?"


	5. Chapter 5

There was a moment of awkward silence, and then John made the mistake of talking first.

"Hello, boys," he said hesitantly. "Been a while."

Dean barked a humorless laugh. "That's it?" he demanded. "_That's_ what you have to say?" He turned to look at Mary. "What the hell is he doing here anyway?"

"Castiel thought we'd need a guide through hell," Mary replied.

That completely threw Dean off-track. His eyes went wide and vulnerable. "Cas is alive?" he asked hoarsely. Mary nodded. Dean squeezed his eyes shut and covered them with one hand, taking a deep breath. _Cas is alive_, he repeated to himself. It didn't instantly wipe away the memory of the nightmare visions, but it went a long way.

"He...he's okay?" he asked again, because he needed to hear it.

"He's better than okay," Mary told him. "He's been completely restored and then some. He's an archangel now."

Dean dropped his hand to stare at his mother. "He's a what?"

"Archangel," she repeated patiently.

Dean continued to stare at her blankly. "Wow," he finally said. "That's..." He frowned. "Wait a second, if he's an archangel, how come you had to come after us? Why didn't he send angels? Hell, why didn't he come himself?"

"He's on the brink of war with Raphael," Mallory cut in quickly. "Raphael wants to release Michael and Lucifer but Cas isn't going to let him. So sending a team of angels into hell to open the Cage would look bad."

"Look bad my ass," Dean growled angrily. "He thought it was a good idea to send _you_ in after us?"

Mary arched an eyebrow. "Well, we _are_ the best," she pointed out.

"Look, this might be important," John interrupted impatiently. "But this isn't the best place for this conversation. We really should get away from here."

Dean whirled on his father like a wounded animal. "So you're back to throwing around orders, huh, Dad? Yeah, well that's not gonna fly this time."

John frowned. "Dean, I know that I made some mistakes—"

Dean cut him off with another laugh. "Mistakes?" he repeated in disbelief. "Dad, you Goddamned fucked up." He took a step toward John. "What were you thinking when you made that deal, huh? Were you even thinking about us?"

"I did it to save you, Dean," John growled back dangerously. "You were dying. What was I supposed to do?"

"You shoulda let me die!" Dean burst out. "It woulda ended there! All of this!" He slashed his hand through the air. "You have no idea what it was like without you! We _needed_ you, Dad. _Sam_ needed you. And you just checked out first chance you got."

John's expression darkened even further. "You think it was easy, boy?" he snapped. "Making a deal with the thing that killed your mother? You think I wanted to give up?"

"I think you were just feeling guilty because you were a shitty father," Dean shot back. "Because it was your fucking fault we were in that situation in the first place. If you'd cared for us more than killing that fucking demon we might have had a decent life."

"Dean!" Mary cried.

"Well, it's true," Dean barked.

Sam moved away from Mal's side and grabbed Dean's arm. "Dean, don't do this," he said in a tired voice. Dean shook him off.

"No, I'm doing this right now," Dean snapped at his little brother. He jabbed a finger in John's direction. "This was all your fault. Everything. Right from the beginning. If you'd just moved on and let things alone, we'd be normal. No hunting, no Apocalypse. Sam wouldn't have fucking _died_. He'd have been safe. He wouldn't have had to go through all the shit we had to deal with."

Sam grabbed Dean again. "You don't know that, Dean," he said in the same weary tone. "Azazel would have found a way to get his hands on me one way or another."

Dean looked up at his brother. "You can't be defending him," he accused.

"I'm not," Sam shook his head. "I just...I don't know. There's no point. Let's just get out of here. Please?"

Dean yanked his arm once more out of Sam's grip. "Fine," he snarled. He turned and stomped toward the glass forest. Mary looked helplessly at them before hurrying after him. Sam sighed deeply and ground the heel of one hand against his forehead.

John hesitated, and then began, "Sam, I—"

Sam dropped his hand and skewered his father with a glare. "Don't," he said flatly. "Don't even try. You know, maybe Dean's right. It probably is your fault." With that he turned and walked away, Mal throwing John a shuttered look before catching up and slipping her hand into his.

John remained where he was, staring after his family.

Well, this was going to be fun.

XxxXxxX

No one really spoke as they navigated the deadly maze of glass shards except to mutter a warning or point out a particularly dangerous obstacle. They tried to stick to the path they used coming in, as they'd eliminated some of the worst obstructions, but twice they got lost and only stumbled onto the trail by accident. The air was strained and tense and Mallory felt extremely out of place. The Winchester family reunion hadn't gone like she'd expected. She had had no idea Dean and Sam held that much resentment toward their father. And the fact that Mary hadn't really attempted to defend John had spoken volumes in itself.

They eventually had to stop when Sam and Dean literally couldn't go any further. They were both exhausted and desperately in need of rest without nightmares. Dean, Mary, Sam, and Mal sat together in a relatively open space while John stood at a distance, keeping watch. Mal curled up against Sam's side, tucking herself as close to him as possible. He wrapped an arm around her shoulders, resting his cheek against the top of her head.

Dean leaned forward, propping his elbows on his knees. "So," he said at length. "What's the story? What happened after we took the dive?"

Mary took a deep breath. "Castiel showed up almost right away. Mal was unconscious; we weren't sure if she was going to make it, and he took us home, told us to sit tight, and then he went back to heaven. He had to move quickly if he was going to stop Raphael from getting to the Cage first. He came back three days later with your father, and then we came down after you."

Sam looked down at Mal. "How'd you survive?" he asked quietly.

She was silent for a long time. "Ami saved my life," she replied in a voice no more than a whisper. "She—she died to protect me."

"So she's gone." Sam swallowed and closed his eyes. Mal curled her hand in his shirt and tugged.

"It wasn't your fault," she told him.

"She's right, Sammy," Dean put in. "That's not on you."

Sam didn't look convinced but he didn't say anything else. Mary nudged Mal and gave the girl an expectant look. She chewed on her lower lip and shook her head. But Dean and Sam both caught the look and turned towards Mal.

"What?" Sam demanded. "What is it?"

"Ami did something to me," Mal said reluctantly. "Before she died. She had to, to save me."

"What did she do?" Sam asked, a scowl gathering on his forehead.

Mal ducked her head and raised one hand, palm facing upward. She concentrated on channeling energy from the source deep within down her arm and into her fingers. After a moment, her hand began to glow with a faint, white light that seemed to blaze brightly in hell's oppressive atmosphere.

Dean and Sam stared at the girl in shock. "Ami gave me some of her Grace," Mal explained, turning her hand over and flexing her fingers. "I don't know how...not even Cas thought it was possible. All I know is I can do things, and I know things...memories. _Her _memories." She extinguished the light and curled her hand into a fist.

"Mal, that's..." Sam began, and trailed off.

"Weird, I know," she finished. "Trust me, it's a lot to handle." She sighed. "And that's not the only thing I got from her." After a long hesitation, she continued, "The Mark. Somehow I got the Mark. That's how we knew where to find you in the Cage." She didn't look up at Sam, didn't dare see his expression.

"Huh," she heard Dean say.

Then Sam tightened his arm around Mal. "So you felt everything?" he asked in a low voice.

"Yeah," Mal replied hoarsely. "It's better now," she added quickly.

"But everything before," Sam pressed. "You knew...you knew what was happening?"

She shook her head. "No. I just...it hurt. It just hurt."

She felt Sam press a kiss to her temple. "I'm sorry," he whispered.

Mallory rolled her eyes and twisted to face him. "God, Sam, you can't blame yourself for everything," she snapped irately. "It's not your fault. Lucifer did this to me, not you." When Sam again didn't look convinced, she punched him in the shoulder. "What could you have done? Not accepted Lucifer? It worked, Sam. He's in the Cage and the Apocalypse is over. You did the best you could."

"I know, but," he began, but Mal leaned forward and silenced him with a kiss.

"Stop it," she told him, still annoyed.

Dean laughed. "And on that note, we'd probably best get moving. I don't want to hang around here longer than we have to." He helped Mary to her feet as the others stood and they turned toward John, who'd been silent the whole time. He nodded in the direction they were heading.

"We're almost out," he said curtly. "Should just be a couple hundred yards."

"Good," Dean replied, equally terse. "Getting tired of the view."

"Yeah, well, the view on the other side isn't much prettier," John said dryly.

Dean gave his father a flat look. "I know," he said simply. John looked down awkwardly.

"Right." He turned and started walking without a word, the others falling in behind him.

When they emerged from the shattered obsidian, Mallory instantly knew something was wrong. John was standing a few yards from the edge of the glass slabs, staring up at the Pit wall they'd descended. The path they'd used was gone. Not just destroyed, but completely absent, as if it had never existed.

"That...can't be good," Mary observed.

"We'll just have to find another way up," John replied gruffly.

Dean squinted up the sides of the Pit. "We should head that way," he said, pointing off to their left. "The tunnels are a bad idea. They're full of demons usually and there's not a lot of room to fight."

"Yeah, we discovered that," Mary said with a frown. Dean gave her a sharp look.

"What happened?" he demanded.

"Mal managed to keep them at bay using Amitiel's angel powers, but it was a close call," Mary replied, and Mallory blew a sigh of relief that she didn't mention the whole heart-stopping thing.

"Looks like there's a few trails on the far wall," Sam observed, indicating the direction Dean had picket. "Do we know how bad they are?"

Dean peered off into the distance. "I don't. I spent most of my time on the platforms over there." He gestured above them. He hesitated, and then asked with a sour expression, "Dad?"

John shook his head. "I don't know either, but it doesn't look like we have a lot of options."

"As long as it gets us near the surface," Mary said, dragging one hand through her hair. "Castiel said he'd send someone after us when we got close."

Dean scowled. "Me and him are gonna have words when we get back," he growled.

The closer they got to the opposite wall, the more apprehensive they became. There was no sign of demons, pre-demons, or anything else nasty as they crossed the Pit floor. Mary guess it was because of the Cage, but no one trusted the lull. Dean also got more and more antsy as the paths became clearer. Few of them were carved out of the rock; most were actually made from wood, rope, and in a few places bone, clinging to the side of the Pit wall through unseen methods.

"Dude, what is wrong with you?" Sam finally demanded as they neared the wall.

"Remember how I don't like heights?" Dean hissed back, eying the paths apprehensively. Mary blinked at Dean.

"You're afraid of heights?" she asked.

Sam snorted. "Yeah. You should see him on an airplane."

"Planes crash," Dean pointed out.

"Well, you'll just have to deal with it," John said, staring up at the crisscross of paths above them. "We've got other things to worry about right now."

"Thanks, Dad, I kinda got that," Dean snapped.

Mary ground to a halt and set her hands on her hips. "All right," she said darkly. "We're going to have this out right now."

The three Winchester men stared at her. "What?" they all asked at the same time.

"We've got issues," Mary went on. "And we're not going a step further until we work something out."

"Mary, this isn't the best place," John tried to begin.

"I don't give a damn," Mary cut him off. "We are dealing with this right now, is that clear?" She glared at them for a moment and then turned to Mallory. "Mal?"

Mallory pointed over her shoulder. "I'm, um, gonna keep watch," she said, and hurried away, staying within sight but out of earshot.

"Mary," John tried again, but Mary didn't let him finish.

"Shut up and listen to me, John," she ordered sharply. John's mouth snapped shut while Sam and Dean's eyes widened. Mary crossed her arms. "Now. You boys are upset with your father. I get that. You have reason to. And John, you also have reasons for what you did. You found out what was out there and you were trying to prepare our sons for it. You made mistakes."

"I know that," John said with a deep frown.

"I don't think 'mistakes' covers it," Dean growled.

"Dean," Mary snapped, silencing him. "You're not entirely blameless, either," she reminded her oldest son. "You've made some pretty big mistakes yourself. The two of you started the Goddamn Apocalypse. And don't blame that on your father. Those were your choices."

Neither Sam nor Dean spoke, their gaze fixed on the ground. Mary took a deep breath. "But you're not seeing the big picture," she continued, her voice suddenly quiet. "You're not putting the blame where it belongs. On me."

Their heads shot up and they all started talking at once, Dean denying, John angry, and Sam confused. Mary put her hands up to silence them. "I'm the one that made the first deal with Azazel," she told them. "I'm the one who gave him permission to give Sam demon's blood."

"Mom, you didn't know," Sam protested. Mary fixed him with a hard stare.

"That's not an excuse. I was born and raised a hunter, Sam. I knew about demons and how dangerous their deals were. And I made it anyway. That was my choice and I started all of this. Everything that has ever happened to you can be traced back to that moment." She looked from her husband to her sons. "I'm the one that ruined all of your lives."

There was a long moment of shock as they absorbed her words, unable to meet each others eyes. Mary stood waiting for a reaction, her gaze traveling from face to face. To her surprise, it was John who broke the silence with a quiet, humorless laugh.

"I'm guessing apologies are useless at this point," he said.

"Yeah, I wouldn't want to hear them, anyway," Dean added.

"I'd punch you if you tried," Sam told Dean. Dean shoved Sam away from him.

"I wasn't gonna apologize to you, bitch."

John suddenly smiled, a real, genuine grin. "Good to see you boys haven't changed much."

Dean returned the smile, lopsided and crooked. "Yeah, well. We're Winchesters. Family is everything."

John extended his hand, slowly so Dean would have plenty of time to back away. He didn't. John squeezed his son's shoulder. "It's good to see you, Dean," he said softly.

"Yeah, you too," Dean replied, all humor gone. John turned to his younger son.

"Sam," he said, trying to find more words.

Sam shook his head. "It's okay, Dad," he assured him. "I know."

Mary watched with satisfaction, knowing her tactic had worked. She knew it'd take a while to get everything resolved, but at least now they were talking to each other. She walked over to Sam and hugged him tightly. Sam hugged her back, dropping a kiss onto the top of her head. She could hear John and Dean talking but didn't make out any of the words until she pulled away from Sam.

"...Yeah, I remember him," John was saying. "Real piece of work. What happened to him?"

"Dead," Dean said proudly. "Sam killed him. Never been happier to see one of those sons of bitches go."

"So with Alistair, Azazel, Lilith, and Marax all dead, who's calling the shots down here?" John asked with a frown.

Dean thought for a moment. "That's actually a good point." He sent an uneasy glance upwards. "Let's hope we don't find out."

Mallory cleared her throat behind them and they turned to look over at her. "There wasn't any yelling and no one's bleeding, so I thought it was safe to come over," she said, her eyes darting between them.

"Yeah, we're done," Sam assured her, releasing Mary.

Mallory reached into her pocket and brought something out. "I found this while I was waiting," she said sheepishly. "I completely forgot about it."

Sam took it from her, studying it closely. It was a cloudy, irregular crystal with a slight bluish tinge. "What is it?"

"A weapon," Mallory replied. "Cas said it turns things into salt. I don't know how it works, though."

"That would have been useful in the tunnels," John observed.

Mal ducked her head. "Sorry," she mumbled.

Dean reached over to pluck it from Sam's hand. "Doesn't look like much," he said, frowning at it. Sam snatched it back with a scowl.

"Well, we have it now," he said. "We'll figure it out when the time comes."

John looked up at the paths. "We should get moving," he said. "I know I'm not the only one who wants to get out of here."

The narrow rope and wood paths only allowed for one person to pass at a time. They were rickety and unstable; gaps and damage were common. Dean was okay for the first couple hundred yards, and then turned a very pale green. Sam and Mal took turns heckling him, which managed to distract him enough to keep him going. They reached a ledge hacked out of the rough, red stone and Dean breathed a sigh of relief for the respite, dropping down as far away from the edge as he could get.

Mal sat on the edge itself, staring out at the Pit. Sam came to sit next to her. "What is it?" he asked softly. She reached up to rub her temple.

"Flashbacks," she replied. He looked at her inquiringly. "From Ami," she explained. "First voices, then images. Started hearing things a while back. Trying to keep the images at bay, but it's hard."

"What happens if you don't?" he asked.

She gave him a twisted smile. "If I'm lucky, I won't have a seizure. But there's nothing I can do except ride it out. I'm really hoping I get over this."

He enclosed her hand with his. "Anything I can do?"

"Stay with me?" she asked. He nodded and pulled her against his side, tucking her under his arm. It was only a few moments later that her breathing became fast and shallow. She hid her face against Sam's shoulder as her body was seized by muscle tremors. Mary came to crouch beside them.

"It's happening again, isn't it?" she asked. Sam nodded and reached up to cradle Mal's head against his shoulder to keep it steady. "Dammit," Mary muttered. She rubbed Mal's back soothingly. "We're going to have to talk to Castiel about this when we get back."

The flashback lasted for several more minutes. Sam felt it when the tremors ceased and her muscles began to loosen. She remained limp against his side for a while before stirring. "You okay?" he asked.

She looked tired and strung-out, but her eyes were clear. "Yeah," she said hoarsely.

"What did you see?"

"Lots of things." She rubbed her eyes. "A city on fire. I was running—_she_ was running, carrying a child. I've seen it before a few times. I've always wondered what it was."

"You need a few minutes?" Mary asked, stroking her hand over Mal's hair.

"No, I'm good," Mal said quickly. "I bet John wants to get moving."

"Only if you're up for it," John put in, a far cry from his attitude on the way down. Mal slapped Sam's shoulder with the back of her fingers.

"Help me up," she ordered. He rolled to his feet and pulled her up after him. "I'm good," she said again.

Dean reached over and ruffled her hair. She ducked out from under his hand with a scowl. He grinned at her and a slow, reluctant smile spread across her face in reply. "That's better," he announced. She hit him but was still smiling.

John went first, as usual. Mary fell in behind him, and then Dean, with Mallory and Sam bringing up the rear. The rope and wood paths were anchored directly to the crumbling red stone. They didn't sway, but they tilted and creaked ominously. More than once the floor slats broke under their feet. They came to a gap large enough to require John to jump over it. Mary hesitated for a long moment but made the jump, John catching her on the other side.

Dean looked down at the gap and back up quickly, his face turning a deeper shade of green. "Oh, hell," he muttered. He stood at the edge for so long that Sam huffed impatiently.

"Come on, man," he called around Mal. "We can't stay here."

"Shut up," Dean snarled back.

"Sam's right, Dean," Mary said. "You have to jump."

"I know," Dean gritted. He backed away from the edge a few steps, got a running head start, and flung himself over the gap. John and Mary steadied him as he landed. Sam put his hand on Mal's shoulder.

"Your turn. Can you make it?"

Mal eyed the gap uncertainly. Before she'd become Amitiel's vessel, she hadn't been all that athletic. But before she could test herself, she noticed rock dust trickling down the cliff face next to her. She looked up. "Uh-oh," she said, eyes widening.

"Shit," Sam said behind her.

A seething mass of pre-demons were swarming down the cliff wall toward them, clinging to the rock like spiders. Here and there among them Mallory could see full-blown demons in their true form. She summoned her sword just in time for the first pre-demons to drop onto the path. It took the blade right between its missing eyes, and Mal kicked it off the path and out of the way.

Another one tried to leap from the wall onto her shoulders but Mal ducked in time and it flew past her out into empty space, wailing as it fell. She glanced over her shoulder at Sam, who let a pre-demon's limp body slip from his hands, its neck at an odd angle.

On the other side of the gap, the Colt went off and one of the demons dropped from the wall. John had given Dean the curved blade and the three of them were struggling with their own share of the monstrous souls. Mallory was unable to spare them any more thought when the path around her suddenly became crawling with pre-demons.

She moved on pure muscle memory, instincts and reactions leftover from Amitiel. Sam was holding his own with a rock and fists. Mallory edged backwards until she and Sam were back-to-back so they'd only have to fight from one direction.

A demon landed amidst the lower life forms and scattered the blind monsters. It bared blackened teeth at Mallory and shuffled forward. Mallory took a deep breath to calm herself and squared off with it. She raised her blade in preparation, only to notice something very strange happening to the demon.

It was turning white. White, crystalline, and slightly sparkly. The transformation swallowed the demon and then it crumbled into tiny particles that set the pre-demons to shrieking and scrambling out of the way. Mal whirled around. Sam was holding the crystal in one hand, a look of pleased surprise on his face.

"That," he said, "Is cool."

A pre-demon jumped from the wall at Sam's back. Mal scooped up a handful of salt and flung it into the creature's face. It convulsed with a pained scream and tumbled off the path into the Pit. Sam cocked his arm back and threw the rock he was holding. Mallory turned in time to see it brain a pre-demons that was crawling up over the edge of the path. It shrieked and let go, disappearing.

The number of attackers was rapidly dwindling as the humans dispatched them with brutal efficiency. Mallory paused after slicing one's throat to wipe the dark, sticky blood from her face and check on her companions. Then a shadow fell over her and she looked up, bringing her sword around defensively. She got a glimpse of tattered, leathery wings before she felt long talons bury themselves in her shoulder and side.

Sam whirled around at Mallory's scream of pain to see a gigantic, winged monster struggling to lift the girl off the path. She was stabbing at it frantically and trying to dislodge the claws in her side. "Mal!" Sam lunged forward, raising the crystal, but he didn't dare use the weapon for fear of hitting Mallory.

By sheer, blind luck, Mallory drove her angel-sword directly into the beast's eye. It jerked its head back with a howl, yanking the blade from the girl's hand. It thrashed around for a moment before going slowly limp. Then it began to slide off the path. Mallory, still impaled on its talons, cried out and tried to grab the ropes, but it was no use. Sam threw himself forward onto his knees, grabbing at her hand. Her eyes caught his, wide and full of pain and fear. Then she vanished over the edge of the path.

"MAL!"


	6. Chapter 6

"Mal!"

Sam grabbed the edge of the path and leaned over, scanning the Pit below. There was no sign of either Mallory or the winged monster. "Mal!" he called again. But there was nothing. Sam scrambled to his feet and turned to hurry down the path when Dean grabbed his arm and spun him around.

"The hell are you doing?" Dean demanded.

"I'm going after her," Sam said, shaking his brother off.

"Sam, calm down," Dean ordered.

"I am fucking calm," Sam snarled back. Dean grabbed Sam by the shoulders and shook him.

"Sam!" he barked. "Look at me!"

Sam glared down at his brother, teeth clenched hard enough to knot the muscles along his jaw. "What?" he gritted.

"I saw what happened," Dean said roughly. "I saw where that thing stabbed her. That was fatal, man."

"No," Sam immediately countered. "She was alive. I _saw_ her. She was still alive."

"She couldn't have survived the fall, Sam," Dean continued. "No one could. I'm sorry, Sammy, but Mal's gone."

"No," Sam said again, his throat raw. "No, she's not. I'm gonna find her." He tore away from Dean's hold and started down the path.

"It got her through the lungs, Sam," Dean called after him. "Straight to the heart. She was dead before she even hit the ground."

Sam snarled and whirled around, grabbing Dean by the front of his shirt and slamming him against the cliff wall hard enough to knock free a rain of red dirt. "Don't say that," he growled dangerously. "I'm not losing her. Not now."

Mary was beside them now, placing a calming hand on Sam's shoulder. Her face was pale and drawn, blood trickling from a wound near her hairline. "Sam, Dean's right," she all but whispered. "Mallory couldn't have survived that. I'm so sorry."

Sam was torn for a long moment. Dean didn't say anything, didn't try to push Sam away. He just stood there with sympathy in his shadowed, green eyes and waited for Sam to come to a decision. After several agonizing moments, Sam unclenched his fists from Dean's shirt. A dozen emotions warred across his face, muscles twitching as he fought for control. "You're right," he whispered hoarsely. "There's no way she could have survived that."

"I'm sorry, Sam," Dean said, but a dark snarl passed over Sam's face.

"Don't," he said, the word mangled coming from his throat. "Just don't." He turned away from his brother and his mother, clawing one hand through his hair. He could hear the rest of his family talking in low murmurs behind him, but he wasn't ready to face them, not yet. He looked out over the Pit again. He couldn't make out the bottom anymore, couldn't see where her body rested. He reached up to touch his chest where the Mark was emblazoned into his skin. Ever since he'd woke to see Mallory kneeling above him, it had radiated warmth. Now it was cold, dead.

He drew a shuddering breath and turned back to the others. They were watching him silently, still waiting. "Let's get out of here," he said hoarsely, and pushed past them up the path.

Sam didn't know how long they climbed up the cliff face, whether it was two days or a week. They stopped when they were tired and walked when they were rested. No one tried to speak to him, for which he was grateful. He didn't think he could formulate much of a conversation at the moment. More than anything he wished they'd be attacked again, that there would be _something_ he could beat to death with his bare hands.

Because he'd done it again. He'd gotten an innocent person he cared about killed.

Sam had walked three steps on solid rock before he even realized it and ground to a halt, looking around in confusion.

"Holy..." Dean said from behind him.

"Shit," John finished.

Holy shit was right. They were standing on the edge of the biggest damn cavern Sam had ever head of, much less seen. The roof extended at least two miles up and it went so far back the far wall was lost in darkness. The mouth was big enough for a couple of space shuttles to fit through at the same time, with room to spare. There were stalactites the size of skyscrapers hanging from the roof and there was an entire city built from the same red stone spread out on the cavern floor.

It took Sam another minute to realize it was dead silent. Except for the continual cacophony of screams in the background, there was no sound whatsoever. The city was completely empty of noise or movement.

"That...is totally not creepy," Dean said into the silence. Mary stepped up beside Sam.

"So now what?" she asked, her voice hushed.

"Same as always," John replied tightly, walking past the others toward the city. "We find a way up."

Mary hurried after him, falling into step beside him and slipping her hand into his. Dean glanced at Sam and winced. Sam's face was drawn and haggard, his blue-hazel eyes sunken under his already-prominent forehead and his cheeks hollow. There was a scabbed-over gash along Sam's jaw; Dean wondered if Sam even realized it was there. He reached over and touched Sam's shoulder. His brother flinched away from the contact.

"Hey," Dean said, raising his hand defensively. "You good?"

Sam shot him a dark look and started off after their parents. Dean watched him go, noting the set of his shoulders. He sighed. Sometimes he wished he wasn't so damn good at reading his brother. And this time was even worse than after Jessica.

Jessica hadn't died in hell trying to rescue Sam.

"Mal," Dean said under his breath. "Everything you made it through and it had to be now. Awesome timing, kid." He followed the rest of his family toward the demon city, rubbing a hand wearily over his face and feeling the grit of dirt on his skin. He was really sick of hell.

Dean's skin was crawling long before they reached the first buildings. Every single one of them was dark and empty. They didn't dare look inside to see what was hidden by those dark doorways, too afraid of what they would find. Their footsteps echoed loudly, every breath harsh in the silence.

"I don't like this," Mary said. "Where are all the demons?"

John glanced up at the empty windows above them. "Let's just keep moving."

Dean was still in the rear as they made their way single file down the center street, so he was the last one to cross the mouth of the alley when he heard the quiet noise of a body scraping against stone. He whirled around, yanking the curved blade from his belt and crouching in a ready stance.

A human soul quivered in the shadows, curled in on itself as it rocked back and forth, gibbering quietly. Dean lowered his knife, ordered his heart to stop racing, and called for a halt. The others joined him, staring down at the soul. Dean edged forward for a better look.

The soul had once been male, and he was in bad shape. He was dressed in rags so filthy they blended in with the dirt on his skin, crusted with blood and...other things. There were gaping wounds all over his body, each one of them oozing pus and infection. Dean caught a whiff of the soul and gagged, clapping a hand over his nose. "Oh, God," he muttered.

The soul gave a high-pitched laugh. "God," he echoed. "God...no God here. No God. No God. God help us...God help us all." he laughed again. "No no no no no, far too late. Too late for that."

Dean glanced over at Sam and his parents, but there was no help from that quarter. Sam had checked out long ago and Mary and John looked as lost as he was. So he sighed and turned back to the soul, crouching down a fair distance upwind of the man.

"Hey," he called. "Hey, you. Guy, or whatever."

The soul peered at Dean from between his fingers. His eyes had lost all color, leaving only dilated pupils and yellowed whites. He bared his crooked, rotted teeth in a horrible parody of a smile. Dean grimaced with distaste.

"Look, man, do you know where all the demons went?" he asked, really wanting to be as far away from the soul as possible. It was bringing back some extremely unpleasant memories.

"Gone...all gone," the soul replied, still rocking back and forth. He clawed at his stringy, greasy hair.

"Gone where?" Dean pressed.

"War," the soul hissed.

Dean blinked and looked up again at his parents.

"The war is over," John said, frowning down at the soul. "It's finished."

"That's what you think," the soul giggled. "But it's only just beginning. Hell is rising. Hell is rising. Hell is rising. Hell is rising..." he trailed off, eyes gone wide and horrified, his rocking increased. Dean snapped his fingers in front of the soul's face.

"Hey," he barked. The soul blinked and focused on him again.

"The child of darkness comes," the soul rasped. "Beware the devourer." Then, with speed that belied his mangled body, he darted away down the alley and disappeared between the buildings. Dean watched him go, eyebrows climbing up his forehead.

"That wasn't ominous at all," he said flatly, and got to his feet.

"What did he mean, hell is rising?" Mary asked uneasily. "We stopped it. Lucifer is in the Cage. It's over, isn't it?"

"Look, it was just some poor bastard who's been down here too long," Dean said, waving one hand dismissively. "Trust me, I know what this place does to your head. I wouldn't take anything he said seriously."

They started moving again, this time even more alert for any possible movement. The city stretched on for miles. They stopped for rest, remaining in the open and laying on the street to sleep in shifts. John took first watch with Mary, sitting next to Sam and scanning the buildings above them while Sam whimpered in his sleep. John wondered what his son's nightmares were like. What they'd been through in the Cage. By his calculations, the boys had been trapped there for over a year before they'd gotten them out. What had the archangels dreamed up in that time?

John took a deep breath and blew it out through his nose. "You didn't tell me Sam and Mallory were together," he said without looking at Mary.

She blew a sigh of her own. "Would it have mattered?"

"It meant that her decision to go after him and Dean was an emotional one."

"It was emotional for all of us," she returned.

"They're our sons. We didn't have a choice."

"Neither did she."

John considered that for a while. "How long?"

"I'm not sure. Before I came back, I think. Her hosting an angel made things complicated, though."

He snorted. "I'd imagine." He scratched at the stubble clinging to his cheeks. "What about Dean? He have anyone?"

"Not that I know of." Mary shifted, searching for a more comfortable position, and gave up. "I seriously doubt that the last few years have allowed for it."

"How were they holding up? Before, I mean."

"From what I saw, barely. Bobby said..." Mary trailed off with another sigh.

"Bobby, huh?" John looked over at his wife. "They been hanging out with him?"

Mary smiled crookedly. "He's all but adopted them. Mallory, too."

John returned the smile faintly. "Well, at least they had someone."

Her smile vanished. "I'm going to have to tell him she's not coming back." Her eyes went hollow. "He's not gonna take that well." Then she winced. "Castiel isn't gonna take it well, either."

"The archangel?" John frowned. "How'd the boys get mixed up with him, anyway? Dean seemed to know him."

Mary shook her head. "That's putting it mildly. Castiel was the one who saved Dean from hell the first time. And when it turned out heaven wanted the Apocalypse to happen, Castiel rebelled for Dean. Died for him once or twice, from what I've heard. They have some sort of connection. It's called a Mark. I'm not sure how it works, but it means that Castiel feels all of Dean's pain. Amitiel had one with Sam, too. Mallory inherited it after that." She shook her head again. "That was all before he became an archangel, though."

"Huh," John said, rubbing his jaw. "That explains it."

Mary gave him a confused look. "Explains what?"

"You know a guy named Jimmy?"

"I've heard of him," Mary replied. "He's Castiel's vessel. Why?"

"Well, let's just say we didn't hit it off."

"No offense, dear, but you don't seem to hit it off with anyone recently," Mary said gently.

John sighed. "No, not really."

XxxXxxX

By Dean's guess, they were at the center of the demon city. The buildings here were taller, the streets narrower. Other than the human soul, they'd met nothing else. The silence was really starting to get to him. He turned around to sweep his gaze across the area behind them before facing front to make the corner the others had already gone around. He cleared the edge of the building and jerked to a halt at the sight of Sam, John, and Mary standing in a line across the street.

"Well, well, well. Would you look at this. The Winchester family together at last," Crowley said dryly from where he leaned against a building. He smirked. "It makes me feel all warm inside." He pushed away from the wall and walked toward them.

John pulled the Colt from his jacket and pointed it at the demon, thumbing the hammer back. Crowley stopped and raised his hands. "Oh, I wouldn't do that if I were you, John," Crowley warned. "You're gonna want to hear what I have to say, right, boys?"

John glanced over at Dean. "You know this piece of scum?" he asked.

Dean felt his face twist. "Unfortunately," he growled. "Put the gun away, Dad. He's not gonna hurt us. Probably." The Winchester patriarch hesitated, but lowered the Colt anyway.

"That's better," Crowley said, once more smirking. He strolled closer. "Mary. Looking lovely as always. And the moose, of course." Crowley looked Sam up and down. Then he glanced around. "Seems as if we're missing someone."

Sam started forward with a snarl, but Dean put a hand on his chest to ward him off. "Not now, Sam," he said.

Crowley raised an eyebrow. "Oh, I see. Your little girlfriend bit it, huh? Funny how that happens to you a lot, eh?"

This time it was Dean who stepped forward with a growl. "You got something for us or are you just gonna gloat, you dick?"

Crowley gave him a flat look. "Have some respect, meat monkey," he rumbled. "I just might be your ticket out of here."

"Why the hell would you help us?" John demanded.

"Because as much as I would prefer to rip you all limb from limb and eat your hearts from your ribcages, you are useful to me," Crowley snapped. "So, if you want to have a chance at seeing blue sky again, you'll listen to me." He looked at the line of Winchesters and, seeing that he had their attention, went on.

"Right. Now that you've popped Lucifer back in time-out—congratulations on that, by the way—hell is a little at odd ends. We've got all this pent-up energy and no one to lead us, see? So several of the bigwigs that you lot _haven't_ wasted are duking it out for the top slot. And so far the favorite is a chap by the name of Abaddon. Heard of him?"

"I have," John said, his expression grim. "He's called the Devourer."

"That's right," Crowley confirmed. "He's an old one, immensely powerful, and he's got his eye on King of Hell."

"And why should we care?" Dean interrupted.

"Because if he gets it, he's going to raise hell and burn the earth," Crowley replied sharply.

"The war is over," Mary insisted.

"You think he cares?" Crowley scoffed. "As far as he's concerned, now that Lucifer is out of the way he's free to do whatever the hell he wants, pardon the pun."

"Okay, so what does that have to do with us?" Dean demanded.

"I want you to kill him," Crowley said instantly, almost before Dean was done with his question. "I get you out of hell, you kill Abaddon. Do we have an agreement?"

Sam laughed, a dry, hoarse sound with about as much humor as a week-old corpse. "Right. And if we kill Abaddon, you get to step in as King of Hell."

"Of course," Crowley replied, examining his fingernails. "But it's all in your best interest. The devil you know, and all that." He buffed them against his lapel. "Besides, I have no designs on earth. Hell is enough to manage for me."

"Great," Dean muttered. He turned his back on Crowley to face the rest of his family. "I hate to say this," he said, dropping his voice. "But I think this might be our best shot."

"You trust him?" John asked skeptically.

"Like I trust rattlesnakes and scorpions," Dean replied. "But we've dealt with him before and come out relatively unscathed."

"You forgot the part about how he currently owns Bobby's soul," Sam reminded Dean sourly.

"He said it was just a loan," Dean pointed out, acutely aware of how lame it sounded.

John rubbed his eyes. "Bobby made a deal with him?"

"It was the only way to get Death's location," Dean put in, feeling the need to defend the absent hunter. "Look, it was a bad situation all around."

"I'm gonna have to go with Dean on this one," Mary said, crossing her arms over her chest. "We can give Crowley something he wants. As long as that's true, he'll play on the level."

"You know that about him?" John asked her.

"No, but I know demons," she replied, her lips tight.

Everyone turned to look at Sam. He glowered back at them. "What? I don't give a shit what we do."

"Okay then," Dean said, eying his brother unhappily. He turned back to Crowley. "Fine. We got a deal. But I'm not kissing you."

Crowley snorted. "Trust me, that's not an experience I want to endure, either." He pointed at a street perpendicular to their current path. "That way."

Dean gestured. "After you."

"Touche," Crowley said, and strolled up the indicated street. "You know, If I didn't know better, I'd say you didn't trust me, Dean."

"You got that right."

"I'm wounded. After all we've been through together."

"Aw, shut up."

Crowley chuckled darkly.

The demon led them through the city at a fast pace. He was extremely alert, constantly surveying their surroundings. His hyper-awareness set Dean on edge. If a demon was nervous in hell, how bad had it gotten?

The city began to climb upwards, built directly into the side of the cavern. Soon buildings merged with caves and paths with tunnels. Crowley led them straight down one without hesitating. These tunnels were wide and well-kept, the ground smooth and lit at even intervals by urns of burning oil.

"Hey, Crowley," Dean called at the demon's back. "How much further to the surface?"

"Distance is like time down here," Crowley replied. "Relative. We'll get there when we get there."

"Asshole," Dean muttered, and John snorted.

The tunnel abruptly widened to a large circle about ten yards across. Tunnel mouths were set evenly around the walls, interspersed with more oil lamps. Crowley stopped in the middle of the circle, scanning the tunnels with narrow eyes.

"Lost?" Dean asked sarcastically.

"No, I'm trying to judge how long until the horde of demons arrive," Crowley replied dryly. Dean blinked at him.

"Was that—are you serious?"

Crowley turned to glare at him. "Of course I'm serious, you moron."

"Shouldn't we be running?" Mary asked, drawing the Knife from her belt.

"Won't do us any good, love, they've got us surrounded," Crowley said, sighing. "Shame, really. We were so close."

The first demon stepped out of the tunnel only seconds later, looking almost human. Dean turned around in a circle to see more emerge one by one until they ringed the perimeter of the chamber, staring at the humans with hungry, black eyes.

"So," Crowley said into the tense silence. "Any way I could just stay out of this?"

One of the demons grinned. "Hello, Crowley. Abaddon says hi."

Crowley sighed. "Guess not."

"You're a dick, Crowley," Dean growled.

"You've mentioned," the Crossroads king said dryly.

The demons descended on them all at once. The blade John had given Dean worked fine against pre-demons, but full-blown ones had no problem shaking it off. Dean wasn't able to do much except hold them off long enough for someone else to kill them. Sam was getting pretty good with the salt thing, and there were soon piles of salt dotted around the chamber. Dean grabbed up a handful and tossed it into a demon's eyes. It squealed in pain as smoke rose from its eye sockets. Dean slit its throat and planted his boot in its chest, kicking it to the ground. Mary pounced on it, driving the Knife into its chest to finish it off.

John shot a demon at point blank range, cocked the Colt, and spun around to put a bullet in another demon trying to sneak up on Mary. Crowley fought like a wild animal, teeth bared and eyes gleaming blood-red. He seized hold of one demon and ripped its head off with his bare hands, barely blinking when black blood sprayed across his face.

For a moment it felt like there was no end to the demons. When one fell, another was there to take its place. The long journey and sporadic rests began to take its toll on Dean. He was too slow in dodging a blow and the demon's fist clipped his jaw, knocking him off-balance. Dean stumbled back, hit the wall, and barely caught himself from falling. The demon lunged toward him again, fingers clawed as if to rip him apart.

Dean reached down, grabbed the oil lamp, and flung it into the demon's face with all his strength. The burning oil drenched the demon and it went up in flames, screaming in pain as its flesh bubbled and blackened. It retreated down one of the tunnels, stumbling as it went. Dean remained where he was against the wall, fighting to catch his breath.

There were no more demons, only corpses on the ground. Sam, John, Mary, and Crowley all stood among the fallen, looking around in confusion. Seeing that there were no more attackers, Crowley cleared his throat, straightened his tie, and brought a handkerchief out of his pocket to wipe his face.

The sound of clapping echoed through the chamber and they all froze. A tall man stepped out of one of the tunnels, looking perfectly normal in a charcoal pinstriped suit. He continued clapping for a moment, a sardonic smile on his face. Then he extended his hand behind him. A shadowy figure placed a cane in his outstretched palm and the man strode into the chamber. The figure slipped in behind him, small and waifish and clad in rags under a tattered gray cloak. A deep hood obscured its face but Dean could see dark symbols winding up its bare arms.

"Well done," the man congratulated. "What a treat. To see the legendary Winchester family in action..." he sucked his teeth. "It must be my birthday."

"Who the hell are you?" Dean demanded, stepping over to join his family. The man began to pace along the edge of the circular chamber, cane clicking on the ground. His companion padded silently along behind him, never out of arm's reach.

"I'll give you three guesses, and the first two don't count," the man taunted.

"Abaddon," John said grimly.

Abaddon grinned and winked at him. "You got it." He paused and leaned on his cane, crossing his ankles. "Crowley. I knew you'd sunk low, but I never thought you'd throw your lot in with _them_."

"Who, these bags of meat?" Crowley scoffed. "Hardly. Just having a little fun with them."

"Hmm," Abaddon replied, clearly not convinced. "So... What do we do next?" He grinned again and pointed at them with his cane. "You know, I really should thank you. Getting Lucifer out of the way, that was a neat trick. Never could have done it myself. Bet you didn't think of that when you made the dive, huh?" He chuckled. "Oh, you boys. We should be _paying_ you."

"Yeah, well I'm not really in the mood for all this bullshit," Sam said, stepping toward Abaddon. He pointed the crystal weapon at the demon.

The ragged figure darted in front of Abaddon, shielding the demon with its own body, drawing itself up to its rather puny height.

"Oh, I really don't think you want to do that," Abaddon said, his eyes narrow.

"Give me one reason why I shouldn't," Sam growled.

Abaddon smirked and raised his hand.


	7. Chapter 7

Abaddon pulled the hood back from the ragged figure's face. Sam lowered the crystal, the breath rushing from his lungs. Mallory stared back at him, her expression blank and her eyes empty. Her hair was gone, shaved down to stubble over her scalp. More black symbols twisted up her neck and across her face. A tarnished metal disc was imbedded at each temple, tendrils of dark infection spreading from the wounds.

"Mal," Sam whispered. She didn't react, her face never changing. "Mal?"

"Oh, she can hear you," Abaddon said. "There's just nothing she can do about it."

"What did you do to her?" Sam snarled, taking a step forward. Dean grabbed his arm.

"Sam, careful," his older brother warned.

"Yes, Sam, _careful_," Abaddon taunted. "There's just no telling what I'll do to her." He stroked the back of his hand down Mallory's cheek. An animal sound ripped its way free of Sam's throat, and John had to help Dean hold him back.

"That's no way to behave," Abaddon chided. He snapped his fingers and Mallory raised one hand, curling her fingers around her angel-sword. She held the blade across her throat. Sam stopped struggling. "That's better," Abaddon grinned. He placed both hands on the cane in front of him. "Now we can all talk like reasonable adults. Isn't this so much better?"

"Why?" Dean ground out when it appeared Sam wasn't capable of words. "Why her?"

Abaddon laughed. "Why _not_ her? I mean, after all, I get all of this lovely angel's Grace." He reached out again and caressed Mallory's shaved head as if petting a cat. "It's just so...useful." He smirked. "Why don't we give them a demonstration, darling?"

Mallory lowered the angel-sword from her throat and stepped forward. Then she seemed to blur, moving too fast to see. Dean and John were flung to the ground, rolling and skidding over the red stone. Sam was down on one knee, Mallory standing behind him. One hand was tangled in his hair, pulling his head back. The silver blade now rested against Sam's throat, pressed tightly enough to indent the skin.

Dean rolled over and saw what was going on. "Mal!" he called. "Don't do this. You don't want to do this."

"I told you, she's not in control anymore," Abaddon said with a patient sigh. "You really are as thick as they told me."

"Mal," Sam said softly. He could see her face, feel the tension in every muscle. The metal of the angel-sword was fever-hot against his skin. "Mal, it's okay. It's gonna be okay. You just have to fight him."

"Sorry, that won't work," Abaddon informed him cheerfully. Mallory pressed the blade tighter against Sam's throat. A line of fire burned under his jaw and a line of warmth trickled down his neck.

"You son of a bitch," Dean growled. "Let her go!"

Abaddon pouted at him. "What? That's it? You managed to single-handedly stop the Apocalypse and that's all you give to save her? Come _on,_ Dean! Show some imagination!" He shrugged theatrically. "Oh well. Makes my life easier. I was going to kill you all anyway. Mallory, sweetheart, go ahead and start with Sammy there."

Mallory prepared herself to drag the blade across Sam's throat.

"Wait!" Abaddon called out. Mallory paused. "I almost forgot the best part." He bounced on his toes a few times. "I'm going to have Mallory here kill you all as bloody and painful as possible. _But_, before you die, I just want you to know that after your deaths, the last remaining Winchester will be raised here, in hell, by me." He beamed at them proudly.

"The hell are you talking about?" John growled.

Abaddon widened his eyes in a parody of comic surprise. "You don't _know_?" he gasped. "Oh, Mallory, you bad girl. You didn't tell them?"

"Tell us what?" Dean demanded.

Abaddon smirked. "Mallory is pregnant."

The revelation exploded into silence, everyone frozen in shock, including Crowley. Dean jerked his head over to stare at Mallory, who was as blank and unmoving as ever. Sam, however, looked pale, his eyes huge. One hand had closed over Mallory's sword-arm, but if her previous show of strength was any indication, it wouldn't do any good.

Abaddon looked around at them, his expression mildly disappointed. "What? No protests, no bargaining? Nothing? Come on, people! John, we're talking about your grandchild, here. Not willing to make the same sacrifice you made for your son?" He swung around. "Or how about you, Sammy? Would you trade your soul for your child's?"

"I'll do it," Sam said before the demon was even finished talking.

"Sam," Mary started, but fell silent. Sam's eyes didn't waver from Abaddon's face.

"I'll stay," he said. "Let her go."

"Now we're cooking with gas," Abaddon said smugly. He strolled over to Sam and crouched in front of him. "You really would do it, wouldn't you?" he murmured, using his cane to tilt Sam's face to either side, examining him closely. "You'll stay here in torment for eternity to let her and your spawn go free." He clucked his tongue. "I have to say, Sam, that kind of self-sacrificial devotion is really pathetic. You must have daddy issues or something."

"Go fuck yourself," Sam growled between clenched teeth. "Do we have a deal or not?"

Abaddon leaned in close until his face was only an inch away from Sam's. He sucked in a deep breath, considering Sam's words. "Hmm... Nope." He whirled to his feet, wearing a huge grin. "I was just playing with you. Mallory, kill them all."

Everything happened at once. Mallory slashed the blade across Sam's throat and dropped him, gagging and bleeding, to the floor. She raised the dripping sword and prepared to launch herself at Mary. John raised the Colt and aimed at the girl. Dean lunged forward, trying to knock the gun out of his father's hands, and Crowley tried to find a discrete exit.

Then the ground began to shake, dust trickling down from the ceiling. Abaddon frowned and looked up. Mallory froze, as if Abaddon's attention was required for her take any action. Sam lay at her feet, still alive as he choked on his own blood. Cracks began appearing in the ceiling, spreading out like spiderwebs. Light shone through the gaps, pure, white, and clean.

"No," Abaddon growled. "No! This is my domain! You cannot be here!"

The world exploded into white light. Dean felt himself flung off his feet but strong hands caught him and held him tight. There were voices, loud, commanding, deafening. The beat of massive, feathered wings. Stone crumbling. Then he was airborne, wind whistling past his face. He fought with all his strength not to black out but he felt as if his skin was burning and he'd left his stomach back in hell...

When his vision cleared, the first thing he saw was the ceiling of Bobby's kitchen and his mother's face leaning over him. "Dean?" she called, sounding as if from a great distance. "Dean?"

"Sam," Dean gasped, and pushed himself up on one elbow, looking around the kitchen. Bobby and Kadmiel were restraining Sam as he struggled and thrashed, very much alive and well and showing no sign of his injury except for the blood sheeted down the front his shirt. Dean turned to see what had so upset his brother.

Anna held Mallory down on the kitchen table with John's help. She bucked and fought with every ounce of her strength, but never made a sound. Balthazar had her head pinned down with one hand and was clawing at the metal disc at her temple. His teeth were bared in pain and smoke rose from his fingertips, but he didn't give up. With a cry, half pain and half triumph, he pulled it free and flung it onto the ground. Mallory's back arched and the light above her exploded, showering sparks onto the four of them. Balthazar turned her head over and scraped at the other disc.

"Dammit, Kadmiel, will you keep him quiet?" Balthazar snapped without looking up from the girl.

Kadmiel touched Sam's forehead and he went abruptly limp, collapsing half on top of Bobby. "Oof," the older hunter grunted, trying to support Sam's weight. The angel stooped and easily picked Sam up in her arms, carrying him out of the kitchen. Dean watched her go with wide eyes.

Balthazar hissed in anger as he scrabbled at the metal imbedded in Mallory's flesh. His fingertips were already red and blistered but he continued to pry at it with his fingernails. Mallory struggled with strength far greater than her size, managing to free her arm from John's grip and clamping her hand around Balthazar's throat.

"Anna, little help here?" Balthazar wheezed, trying to loosen the girl's hold on him. Anna lunged over the table, pulling Mallory's arm down and pinning the girl down with her own weight.

"Hurry up," she barked.

Balthazar braced Mallory's head with one hand and dug his fingernails into her skin until he could feel blood oozing and smell burned flesh. Then he ripped the disk free. Mallory's entire body convulsed and a scream tore from her throat. Light bulbs throughout the house popped and sparked before the electricity went out altogether. The black runes on Mallory's skin dissolved and vanished. She finally went limp.

"Bugger all," Balthazar panted, shaking his injured hand out. Anna got down from the table and bent over the girl, brushing her fingers over the wounds at each temple. The injuries vanished, leaving circles of pink, new flesh. Anna looked up at her brother.

"I'll take care of her." She gathered Mallory into her arms and blinked out of existence. Balthazar dropped down into one of the chairs with a sigh.

Dean stared at the angel for a moment. "Hey, Balthazar?" he asked slowly.

The angel raised an inquiring eyebrow. "Yes, Dean?"

"How come you're not dead?"

Balthazar laughed. "Ah yes. As usual, Dean has a firm grasp of the obvious."

Mary helped Dean sit fully up. Dean glared at Balthazar. "Dude, you tried to take on Raphael," Dean reminded him. "How are you not wasted?"

"Michael stepped in at the last moment," Balthazar replied, all trace of humor gone. "He sent Kadmiel and me for re-education. We were there until Cas found us and released us."

"Oh." Dean rubbed his eyes. "Sucks, man."

"It's no worse than what you went through," Balthazar said briskly. "Right. Well, seeing as you look taken care of, I've got to be off. War to fight and all that."

"Wait—" Dean dropped his hand but it was too late. Balthazar was gone.

Bobby cleared his throat. "Well, welcome home," he said. Mary, Dean, and John all stared at him.

"How long?" Mary asked, sitting back on her heels.

"Four hours," Bobby replied. He looked around at them. "Y'all look like crap."

Dean glanced down at himself. His clothing was torn and filthy, spattered with black blood and smeared with red earth. "I feel like crap," he muttered.

John stepped away from the table and brushed ineffectually at his jacket. He frowned, flickered a few times, and then his clothing returned to normal. He reached under his jacket. "Shit," he muttered. Mary looked at him questioningly. "I dropped the Colt when those angels grabbed us," he said with a sigh.

Dean shook his head, too tired to dredge up any emotion. Mary and Bobby helped him to his feet. He wanted a shower, but the thought of climbing up the stairs was too much at the moment. He dropped into the chair Balthazar had vacated and buried his head in his arms on the table.

There was a quiet click as a glass met the tabletop by his elbow. Dean looked up. A pair of enormous brown eyes stared at him from the androgynous face of a bald ten-year-old. The kid was wearing teddy bear scrubs and looked like a brisk wind might knock it over.

"Who are you?" Dean asked, exhaustion stealing what little tact he possessed. The kid smiled shyly and reached out to grab hold of Dean's wrists, unfolding his arms so the kid could turn Dean's hands palm-up. The skin there was reddened and blistered from the oil lamp. Dean had completely forgotten about it in all the commotion. The child stared hard at the injuries for a moment, and then they began to heal before Dean's eyes. Once the skin had returned to normal, the kid dropped his wrists and leaned against the table, looking as tired as Dean felt.

Bobby walked over and put his hand on the kid's shoulder. "Should you be doing that?" he asked with a frown. "You're barely strong enough to walk around, much less heal people."

The kid looked up at Bobby with a serene expression and patted his hand where it rested on the kid's shoulder. Bobby sighed and nudged the child toward the door to the living room. "Go on, then." The kid padded out.

Dean pointed in the kid's direction. "Bobby, who the hell is that?" he demanded.

"Angel," Bobby replied. "Name's Sophia. Anna brought her around a couple of hours ago. Apparently she pissed Raphael off and he did a number on her."

Dean picked up the glass of water Sophia had brought him and drank half of it in one go. Mary wiped her palms on the front of her thighs. "I'm gonna check on Sam and Mal," she said. As she passed Dean, he reached out and stopped her.

"Do you think Abaddon was telling the truth?" he asked, looking up at her. "About Mal?"

She hesitated. "I don't know," she finally said. "We'll just have to wait and ask her."

Dean nodded. After Mary left, Bobby and John both sat down at the table with Dean. "Who's Abaddon?" Bobby asked.

"The new leader of hell, now that Lucifer is in the Cage," John replied.

Bobby looked from John to Dean and back. "You up to starting from the beginning?"

"Break out a six-pack, we'll tell you the whole thing," John replied.

XxxXxxX

Mallory woke up suddenly and all at once, emerging from a dreamless sleep fully aware. She immediately recognized her surroundings. It was her bedroom at Bobby's house; where she'd stayed during her month-long blindness. The sheets still smelled exactly like she remembered. The sun was peeking through the window; dawn was a few hours old.

She sat up slowly, pushing the blankets down, to find herself dressed in one of her own t-shirts and a pair of cotton shorts. She stared down at herself for a moment, eyes traveling over any exposed skin. It was clean, if pale, and clear. She swung her feet over the side of the bed and stood up, crossing over to the mirror on the wall.

The image that confronted her was barely recognizable. She'd lost what little weight she'd managed to gain over the past four months. Her scalp was covered in short, soft stubble that blended in with her skin. The loss of her hair made her eyes look enormous, pale and haunted as they were. She shivered and wrapped her arms around herself.

She heard footsteps from the kitchen and the quiet murmur of voices. She tilted her head curiously. There should be no way she could hear those noises from here. She discovered that if she kept listening, she could hear Dean snoring from the living room.

Mallory stepped into the hallway, pausing a moment before setting off towards the stairs. She ran her fingertips along the wooden paneling on the wall, having memorized every bump and crack. The carpet felt exactly the same under her bare feet as it always had. She inhaled deeply. Old spice, whiskey, and coffee.

The stairs didn't creak even though she made no effort to stay quiet. The voices were clearer now: John and Mary. Dishes clinked quietly and there was the sound of liquid pouring. Mallory stepped through the doorway into the library. Sam was on the couch, stretched out to his full length with one arm hanging over the edge, knuckles brushing the floor. Dean was on the cot. He'd kicked his blankets onto the floor.

Mallory slipped past them and through the living room, hesitating in the kitchen doorway. John was sitting at the table. He'd flicker every few moments, like bad reception on a television set. Mary was making coffee. "...It hasn't actually been that hard," she was saying. "You'd think a lot would change in almost thirty years, but it seems like the important things stay the same." She turned away from the counter with a mug in each hand and caught sight of the girl. "Mal," she said, sounding surprised. "You're awake."

Mary put the cups down on the table and crossed over to Mallory. John turned to examine the girl. "How do you feel?" Mary asked, reaching out to put her hand on Mallory's shoulder. Mal flinched before she could make contact, taking a quick step backwards. Mary pulled her hand back. "It's okay, sorry," she apologized quickly. "Are you all right?"

Mallory frowned as if in confusion, reaching up to press her fingertips against her temple. The skin there was still pink, newly-healed. She screwed her eyes shut and flinched hard, face pinched in pain. "Mal!" Mary called, moving to steady the girl but Mallory again ducked away from Mary's hands, desperate not to be touched. Then she blinked again, face clearing. She looked around the kitchen in bemusement, giving Mary and John a quizzical stare.

"Mallory," John said slowly. "Are you okay?"

The girl whipped her head around in the direction of the doorway a moment before Dean stumbled through, rubbing a hand over his face. "Coffee?" he mumbled. John picked up one of the mugs on the table and held it out in his son's direction. Dean brightened and headed over. As he passed Mallory, he swiped his hand over her shaven head. "Hey, kid."

Mallory spun away, chopping her hand down on Dean's wrist and dropping into a defensive stance, fists raised to protect her face. Dean froze. "What did I do?" he asked, glancing uncertainly from Mallory to his parents.

"I don't think she wants to be touched," Mary said quietly.

"Oh," Dean said. "Sorry." He edged around Mal and accepted the coffee from John. He looked over at Mary. "You get any sleep?"

"A little," she replied. At Dean's disapproving look, she shrugged. "I had it easier than you and Sam. And Mal," she added, nodding at the girl, who'd relaxed as soon as Dean was out of arm's reach. She continued to watch them silently.

"Any of the angels stick around?" Dean asked, sitting down across from John.

"Sophia is asleep in the other bedroom," Mary told him, leaning against the counter to sip at her own coffee. "Kadmiel and Anna stayed long enough to make sure you all were sleeping all right. Apparently the war started in earnest while we were gone. Heaven's a battlefield now."

"Awesome," Dean muttered.

Mary shrugged and put her coffee down. "I sent Bobby for groceries, but I might be able to scrape something together. Mal, you hungry?" She turned to look at the girl. Mallory tilted her head, giving Mary an unreadable look, and then shook her head. Dean frowned at her.

"Hey, are you all right? You look a little out of it."

"Dean," Mary chided. "Just leave her alone. She needs some time, that's all."

Dean wasn't convinced. "Yeah, all right."

Sam appeared in the doorway behind Mallory. "I smelled coffee," he said, looking around. His gaze fell on Mallory. "Hey." Before Mary could warn him, he placed his hand on Mallory's shoulder. "Good to see you up."

Mallory didn't flinch or try to pull away. She merely looked down at Sam's hand resting on her shoulder, and then up at his face. "I had a nightmare," she whispered, barely audible. Sam squeezed her shoulder reassuringly.

"What about?" he asked sympathetically.

"I killed you," she replied, still whispering.

"It wasn't real," he reassured her, ducking his head to look her in the eye. "Okay? I'm alive, I'm right here. This is what's real. Right here."

"You've said that before," Mallory protested, moisture pooling in her eyes. Sam frowned down at her in confusion.

"What? No, I—" He stopped himself, realization dawning. "What did he do to you?" he asked roughly, reaching up to touch her cheek. She turned her face away almost in shame, a tear overflowing. "Mal...what did he do to you?"

She swallowed. "He makes me kill you," she said thickly. "Over and over. You, and Dean. Mary. Bobby. Claire. Everyone. He won't let me stop. Sam, it never stops, and I can't..." Her breath hitched and she stumbled to a halt. Sam cursed mentally and took her by both shoulders.

"Mal, it's over," he told her intensely. "The angels got us out of there. We're home. I promise."

She shook her head. "It always happens like this," she told him unhappily. "But it just starts again and I—I have to kill you all over again."

Sam looked over to his brother and parents for help, but they looked as lost as he felt. He turned back to Mal. "Do you have your sword?" he asked her.

She frowned at him in confusion. "What?"

"Do you have your sword?"

"Y-yes," she stammered.

"Summon it," Sam ordered.

"Sam, I don't understand," Mallory said, shaking her head from side to side.

"Just trust me," he told her. She hesitated for a long moment, and then the angel-sword appeared in her right hand. Sam closed his hand around her wrist and lifted her hand until the point of the sword rested against his chest.

"Sam, what the hell?" Dean burst out.

"Shut up," Sam snapped. He looked down at Mallory, who was still in distress.

"Sam," she said.

"It's okay, Mal," he assured her. "Do you see? You don't have to kill me. Abaddon isn't making you do anything anymore. You're out. You're home."

She stared at where the blade's tip puckered the material of Sam's shirt. She gasped suddenly and stepped backwards, breaking free of Sam's grip. With a twist of her wrist, she banished the sword. "Oh, God," she whispered. She reached up to her temples, feeling the smooth skin and complete lack of anything metal. "We made it?"

Bobby opened the back door at that moment, stepping into the kitchen with an armful of paper bags. Crow pushed past the old hunter and made a beeline for Mallory, bumping his head against her stomach. Mal dropped her hands to fondle his ears, a faint smile twitching at the corners of her mouth. Bobby paused in the doorway, looking around at them all.

"So everyone's up, huh?" he grunted. "Well, shift. If you want food I'm gonna need room."

They were in the living room after breakfast when Castiel showed up. Nobody really felt like doing anything. John and Bobby were at the desk, going over John's old notebook and adding things here and there. Mary and Dean were cleaning guns on the coffee table while keeping an eye on the silver melting in the fireplace. Sam and Mal sat on the couch, Mal practically in his lap and watching as Sam sketched various Enochian wards, occasionally offering a correction. No one noticed the archangel until he cleared his throat. Everyone jumped, hands reaching toward the nearest weapons, until they realized who it was.

"Cas," Dean said, scrambling to his feet. Castiel offered Dean a tired but genuine smile.

"Hello, Dean. It's good to see you."

"Yeah, you too, man. Heard you got upgraded."

"It is a heavy responsibility," Castiel confirmed. There was the sound of shifting feathers and papers rustled throughout the whole room. He tilted his head at Dean and then sighed. "You are upset. Why?"

"What made you think that sending Mal and Mom after us was a good idea?" Dean demanded. "And don't give me any crap about politics."

Castiel pressed his lips together. "The seals on the Cage are gone, Dean. If an angel attempted to open it, they would risk freeing Michael and Lucifer. Living human souls had the greatest chance of extracting you from the Cage without releasing the archangels."

"Oh," Dean said, the wind taken from his sails. "So, how's the war going?" he asked lamely.

"I can't stay long," Castiel replied. "I only wanted to make sure you were all well. Anna told me..." He trailed off and looked over at Mallory. She returned his gaze silently. He crossed over to the couch and spoke to her quietly in Enochian. She replied tersely in the same language. The archangel shook his head. "I'm sorry," he said in English.

"Not your fault," Mallory told him.

He took a deep breath and nodded. "I have to go. If you need me, call. I will answer when I can or send someone."

"Wait, Castiel," Mary called. The angel turned to look at her. "Abaddon told us..." Mary hesitated and looked over at Sam and Mal. "Abaddon told us Mallory was pregnant."

Castiel's head whipped around to stare a moment at the girl. Then his gaze darted to Sam. "I promise you I did not know," he said quickly. "I would never have let her go if I had."

"I know," Sam assured him. "But is there...can you..?"

"Yes." Castiel knelt in front of Mallory, reaching out toward her. He paused. "With your permission?"

Mallory didn't speak, but shifted her position to give Castiel better access. She flinched but didn't pull away when Castiel placed his hand on her stomach. Everyone in the room held their breath for the next few seconds until Castiel looked up.

"You are indeed with child," he told Mallory gravely. Her face tightened and she looked away. "The fetus is only a few days old," Castiel continued. "But it appears to be healthy."

"Thank you," Sam told him softly, pulling Mallory back toward him. She dropped her head onto his shoulder.

"Congratulations," Castiel said gravely. Sam nodded.

The others exchanged awkward looks. It should be a happy occasion, but Sam and Mallory looked so grim that they weren't sure how they should react. Castiel seemed to pick up on the tension because he abruptly got to his feet. John sighed and stood as well.

"Time to be getting back?" he asked the angel. Castiel nodded.

Dean frowned, looking from his dad to his friend. "Wait, what are you talking about?" he demanded.

"I'm not staying here forever, Dean," John told him gently. "I don't belong here anymore."

Dean whirled on Castiel. "But you can bring him back, right? You can do that now."

Castiel shook his head. "Dean, I am sorry, but I can't."

"Why not?" Dean yelled. "You're a fucking archangel now!"

"And there are rules," Castiel replied evenly. "Resurrecting human souls arbitrarily is wrong. It goes against the order of things."

"Well, if it were me you'd bring me back," Dean pressed belligerently.

"No, I wouldn't," Castiel said softly. That stopped Dean cold. He stared at the angel, his mouth working soundlessly. "It is not my place to play God, Dean," Castiel continued. "I am fighting for free will. For you to be able to live without heavenly interference. It's what you want, isn't it?"

"Yeah, but," Dean started, but John laid his hand on his shoulder.

"He's right, Dean," John said. "It's best this way."

Dean looked like he was going to protest, but then his shoulders slumped. "Goddammit," he muttered. John laughed.

"Take care of your mother, you hear?" he said, pulling Dean into a tight hug.

"Yeah," Dean replied. When they pulled away, he gave his father a lopsided grin. "Gonna miss you."

"You, too," John told him.

Sam unfolded from Mallory and crossed over to hug John. "Thanks, Dad," he said simply. John patted Sam's cheek.

"I'm proud of you, boy," he said roughly. "Treat that girl of yours right. You'll be a good father."

Sam swallowed hard and nodded, unable to speak anything more. John turned and extended his hand towards Bobby. "Keep up the good work, Bobby," he said.

Bobby stood and shook John's head firmly. "Well, I have to cover your shift, now, don't I?" he replied gruffly. John laughed again. Then he finally turned to his wife.

"Mary," he began.

"Shut up," Mary replied, and kissed him. When they could speak again, she added, "I'll see you soon."

"Not too soon," John corrected, and stole another quick kiss. "All right, angel. Guess I'm ready."

Castiel nodded and put his hand on John's shoulder. They vanished with a whisper of wings and disturbed air. Dean stared at the moment where they had been for a moment. "And we were just starting to get along," he complained. Mary laughed softly and swiped and her eyes before rubbing her hands briskly.

"Well, no point in sitting around. Work to be done."

That's when Sam realized Mallory was gone.

He found her by the pond Amitiel had been so fond of, sitting on the flat rock with her knees drawn up to her chest. He sat next to her and said nothing. The silence stretched for several minutes. Then Mallory lifted her chin off her knees.

"So...I'm pregnant."

"Yeah," Sam replied.

There was another long silence, again broken by Mallory.

"How the hell did that happen?"

Sam sighed. "I have no idea."


	8. Chapter 8

Mallory rubbed her cheek against her knee. "They think it's yours." Sam didn't reply. "You let them think it's yours."

"It seemed the best thing to do," he said at length. He blinked and gave her an apologetic look. "You don't mind, do you?"

"No," she said quickly. "I don't mind." They fell silent again, staring at the reflections of the sun on the pond's tiny ripples. "Seriously, though. How the hell?" Mallory asked again. "Cas said that our bodies were in suspension while we were in hell."

"So you were pregnant before you went down," Sam said, running his fingers through his long hair.

Mallory shook her head. "Three days. Three days between Ami dying and us going after you. If I was pregnant before that then Ami would have known." She hesitated for a long moment. "Four months ago, when that man kidnapped me...what he did to me...I didn't think I could trust anyone after that." She looked up to meet Sam's eyes. "I trust you. And there isn't anyone else. I swear."

"I believe you," he assured her. "But that doesn't help us any. Unless we have the second recorded case of immaculate conception on our hands."

Mal frowned. "You don't really think..?"

"I was joking," Sam said hurriedly. "Though to be honest, I actually wouldn't be all that surprised."

She snorted. "I know, right?" She rubbed the side of her nose. "Cas didn't notice anything out of the ordinary, though. If there was something bad behind this, he would have known, right?"

"Maybe it's too early to tell," Sam said with a shrug.

"That's reassuring," she replied dryly.

"Well, Abaddon thought it was mine, which means he's not behind it," Sam pointed out.

"And I haven't been around any other bag guy...oh crap." Mallory's eyes widened. "Except Lucifer,"she finished in a whisper. "You don't think _he_..." she didn't dare continue the sentence.

Sam exhaled slowly. "I don't _think_ so," he said uncertainly. "I didn't notice anything at the time." His brow furrowed. "And technically he's an angel, so maybe it wouldn't feel evil? I'm sorry, Mal. I just don't know."

"No. No, he couldn't," Mallory said firmly, mostly to convince herself. "He was trying to kill Ami, to kill me. He wouldn't have...he just wouldn't."

"You're right," Sam assured her, reaching over to rub her back soothingly. Mallory leaned into his hand. When Dean and Mary had touched her, all she could think of was fending off an attack. With Sam she felt safe. No doubt it was because of the Grace connecting them. She could feel that he was just as confused as she was. He merely hid it better.

"Sam, I'm scared," she admitted softly, hugging her legs tighter to her chest. "I'm scared and I don't even know if I _want_ to be pregnant."

"Look, whatever happens, we'll figure it out, okay?" he told her. "We'll deal with things as they come, just like we always do." When she didn't look convinced, he lifted his hand until it rested on the back of her neck. "Hey, you know you're not alone, right?"

That enticed a tiny smile out of her. "Yeah. I know." She finally unfolded from her insecure huddle and stretched slightly. "You want to keep letting them think it's yours, or tell them the truth?"

Sam took a deep breath. "If we tell Dean, how do you think he's gonna react?"

She paused for a moment to consider. "Yeah, you're right," she agreed. "We should keep this between us."

He got to his feet and offered her a hand up. When she accepted, he pulled her against him, curling one arm around her waist and leaning down to kiss her. "Thanks, by the way," he said. She blinked at him, sidetracked. "For coming after me," he elaborated.

Her smile this time was warmer. "Anytime."

When they returned to the house, Dean was waiting for them. "Grab a bag, Sammy," he ordered his younger brother.

Sam frowned at him. "What for?"

"I figured out where I left the Impala," Dean replied. "We're gonna go pick it up."

Sam rolled his eyes. "Fine." He pushed past Dean to gather up what few items they had left at Bobby's. Dean looked down at Mallory.

"If I hug you, are you going to punch me?" he asked.

Mallory chewed on her lip. "I don't think so," she said, honestly not sure of how she'd react. Dean stepped to her side and slowly leaned down, gently circling her shoulders with his arms. She shuddered, instinct screaming to fight him off, but she forced herself to hug him back.

"I get that you guys are scared," Dean whispered into her ear. "But I got your back, all right?"

Mallory withdrew quickly, trying desperately to hide her expression. Lying about her pregnancy was going to harder than she thought. Dean must have thought her reticence was because of her new "no-touch" rule, because he didn't react, only squeezing her shoulder.

Sam returned with a backpack. Dean dropped his hand. "All right, let's hit the road," he said. "I can't believe that I just left her there," he grumbled to himself.

"You had other things on your mind," Sam said dryly. He turned to Mal. "We should be back in a couple days, tops."

"Okay." She went up on her tiptoes to kiss him, and Sam followed her when she tried to pull away, drawing out the kiss. Dean groaned and quickly retreated. The moment his footsteps cleared the kitchen door, Sam broke off the kiss.

"If something comes up or anything changes, call me," he instructed quietly to ensure Dean wouldn't hear.

She nodded. "I'll poke around what books Bobby has, see if I come up with anything."

He brushed her cheek with the back of his fingers. "Get some rest, though."

She gave him a gentle shove. "Get going."

Dean and Sam made their goodbyes to Bobby and Mary and loaded their packs into Bobby's battered Maverick. Dean hated the car but it was that or a minivan and there was no way he was getting into another one of those things. Sam folded himself into the front seat (already missing the Impala's legroom) and checked the road map Dean had handed him with the Impala's location, looking for the shortest route.

Dean didn't try to start a conversation until they were on the interstate. "So..." he said, not even bothering with subtle. Sam rolled his eyes. "You and Mal."

"What about us?" Sam asked without looking at his brother.

"Dude, you're having a kid," Dean burst out. "Would it kill you to look a little happy?"

Sam blew out a sigh. "I just don't like the timing," he replied.

"Timing? What's wrong with the timing?" Dean demanded. "The Apocalypse is over. We won. What better timing is there?"

"Remember what that soul in the demon city said?" Sam said. "'Hell is rising'?"

"I told you, he'd been in hell to long. Probably didn't even know what he was saying," Dean said with a scowl.

"He told us to beware the devourer," Sam pointed out. "Dad called Abaddon 'the Devourer.' If he was right about that, what else did he know?"

"Nothing is going to happen," Dean said forcefully, as if trying to convince himself as well as Sam. "You hear me? Life goes back to normal after this. It'll be ghosts and wendigos and shapeshifters."

"Cas is fighting a civil war in heaven," Sam said flatly. "Raphael wants to release Michael and Lucifer."

Dean's scowl deepened. "Shut up, Sam," he growled.

Sam let it go, because he'd accomplished what he'd intended to and distracted Dean from Mal's pregnancy. Now if only he could do that until they found out what the hell had gotten her pregnant.

XxxXxxX

"_What are you writing?" Sam asks._

_She doesn't look up from the notebook in her lap. "A story."_

_He sits on the couch beside her. "About what?"_

"_The world." The pen continues to move across the paper, her fingers sweeping it in unfamiliar lines as strange symbols appear over the pristine white surface. Sam watches her for a moment. Then he puts his hand over hers, stilling its movement._

"_That's not your responsibility," he tells her._

"_But if I don't write it, it won't happen," she insists, still not looking up from the notebook. She stares down at her entrapped hand. She tries to tug it free. "I have to write."_

"_Mallory."_

_She finally looks up. This is not the Sam as she remembered him. This is a younger Sam. Less weight on his shoulders and less darkness in his eyes. He is bright, but in contrast his shadow is dark, and flickers every few seconds like a ghost. He takes the pen out of her hand._

_She doesn't remember how it happens, but she's straddling his lap as he kisses her. He tastes of rain and steel and salt and his hands are strong at her back. She pulls away, but only enough to kiss her way down his jaw and onto the side of his throat. She scrapes his skin with her teeth, lightly, just enough to get a reaction._

_Then she bites down as hard as she can, until she feels his skin part, until blood oozes over her tongue, until cartilage crunches and gives. She rips and tears, more blood running from her mouth and down her chin, until he stops screaming and finally lays still. She crouches over him, covered in his warm blood. With one finger, she draws a symbol on his forehead._

_**Kill Sam Winchester.**_

The voice jerked Mallory awake and she nearly came off the couch, gasping for breath as cold sweat beaded on her skin. It took her several minutes to realize she was in the library. The lamp was on and there were several books on the coffee table and next to her on the couch. Her heart was still racing in her chest, and there was a phantom tang of blood on her tongue. With a shudder, she scrambled upright and took a step toward the kitchen. Her bare foot kicked something out from underneath the table.

It was her notebook. She bent to pick it up, turning it to the last page. Her rows of neat printing gradually got sloppier as exhaustion set in, and then they petered out into strange, dark symbols that marched, accusing, across the page. Mallory's breath caught in her throat. They were the same ones from her dream. She got to the end of the page and flipped it over.

Drawn across the entire page was the symbol she'd marked on Sam's forehead in his blood. She dropped the notebook with a gasp, recoiling away from it in horror. It was a long time before her heart calmed again. She retrieved the notebook and forced herself to study the unfamiliar sigil. It was an inverted triangle with a vertically bisected circle in the center.

She knew this symbol. She knew it just as she knew the voice commanding her to murder Sam.

Mallory flung the notebook onto the coffee table and whirled, hurrying into the kitchen. She almost dropped the phone in her haste and punched the numbers for Sam's backup cellphone. It rang and rang and just as she was about to hang up in frustration, the other line picked up.

"'Lo?"

"Sam?" Mallory clutched the phone to her ear.

"Mal." He was instantly alert. "What's wrong?"

"I had another nightmare," she whispered. She heard him fumbling around and then a door closed. They must have stopped at a motel for the night.

"Was it the same one?" Sam asked, his voice louder.

"No, different," Mal swallowed and declined to tell him about the voice or the symbol.

"Anything I can do?"

"Hearing your voice helps," she replied.

"I shouldn't have left. I'm sorry."

"We didn't know I'd have another," Mal told him, leaning against the wall and closing her eyes. "What about you?"

He was silent for a long time. "I think we'll all be having nightmares for a while."

"Dean?"

"Him, too." He sighed. "Did you find anything?"

"Some. But nothing that makes sense. You know, incubuses and stuff like that."

"We'll keep looking when I get back. You going to be okay until then?"

"Yeah, fine," she assured him. "Sorry for waking you up."

"It's okay. Try to get some sleep if you can."

Mallory shuddered at the thought of having another nightmare. "I'll try," she promised reluctantly. She hung up and stared at the phone for a moment before turning and getting a glass down from the cupboard. As she crossed to the sink to fill it with water, the universe vanished.

_Hot, dry wind in her face. Sand under her feet. Tents behind her, burning, smoke filling the sky. "MIRIAM!"_

The flashback ended and Mallory startled, dropping the glass. It shattered on the linoleum floor, scattering shards around her feet. She stumbled backwards until her back met the counter and slid down to the floor, drawing her knees to her chest.

_Sunlight through leaves, copper scent of blood. Running, trees whipping past. Castiel beside her, their quarry ahead._

She was vulnerable after the nightmare, unable to resist the barrage of images. She clapped her hands over her ears to drown out the voices, sobs rising in her throat. Two cold, tiny hands closed over her wrists, drawing her hands down. She opened her eyes to see Sophia crouching in front of her, staring at her with huge, concerned eyes.

"Please," Mallory whispered. "Can you help me?"

Sophia nodded and dropped one of Mal's hands, reaching toward her forehead. She froze, fingers hovering over Mallory's face, and gave her an inquiring look. "Yes," Mallory rasped. Sophia pressed her fingers to Mallory's skin.

The kitchen light flicked on. "What's going on?" Mary demanded, surveying the scene. Glass was scattered all over the floor. Sophia and Mallory were huddled together against the cabinets, Mallory trying to hide evidence that she'd been crying.

"Had another flashback," the girl muttered. The angel touched Mal's arm soothingly. Mary noted that Mal flinched, but didn't pull away.

"You okay?" Mary asked.

"I am now," Mal replied. She looked at the angel. "Sophia said...that it's because Ami's Grace is damaged, that part of it is missing. That's why I can't control it. Why it almost killed me when I tried."

"She told you that?" Mary's eyebrows leapt up. She hadn't heard the angel speak a word since she'd met her.

Mal frowned. "I think so. It's...kind of blurry." She made to get to her feet, but Mary held out a hand to stop her.

"Wait. Let me get this glass up, first." Mary found the broom and swept up the sharp splinters. "Did Sophia tell you what we could do?"

"She's going to ask the other angels to try to find the rest of Ami's Grace, to see if that will help," Mallory told her, using the counter to pull herself up. Sophia scrambled up beside her and touched her arm again. This time Mal didn't flinch. "Thank you," she told the angel softly. Sophia nodded, favored her with a sweet smile, and padded out of the kitchen.

Mary looked Mallory up and down. "Are you sure you're okay?" she asked.

Mal huffed a humorless laugh. "I could use a drink, but since that's out of the question, yeah, I'm fine."

Mary frowned at the girl. "Okay," she said, not convinced. "If you need anything, let me know, all right?"

"Yeah, sure," Mal replied, not looking at Mary. She slipped out of the kitchen and Mary followed her into the living room. Mal grabbed a notebook from the table and headed for the stairs. Mary watched her go and wished Mallory would trust her enough to tell her the truth.

XxxXxxX

Sam unfolded from the driver's side of the Maverick, stretching the kinks out of his back from the cramped confines of the car. Bobby had resumed restoring it for Mary, and it was far better suited for her stature. Dean was getting out of the Impala, running his hand fondly over the car. It was completely out of character for him to abandon his beloved vehicle on the side of the road, but in Dean's defense, he'd been under a great deal of pressure at the time.

"Need some time alone?" Sam taunted, shouldering his backpack.

"Shut it," Dean replied, jabbing a finger in Sam's direction. "I just got my baby back, I don't need you to bring me down."

"Whatever," Sam said, rolling his eyes. Yes, he was fond of the Impala. How could he not be? It was the closest thing he'd had to a home growing up. But Dean's attachment to the car was almost laughable. Sam opened the front door and stepped through into the entryway in time to see Sophia run from the stairs to the library. She popped her head back through the doorway, caught sight of Sam, and giggled.

It was the first sound Sam could remember her making. As he blinked at her, she vanished again. A door upstairs slammed and Mallory clattered down the stairs at top speed. "Hi, Sam," she tossed over shoulder as she darted in the same direction Sophia had disappeared. Sam stared after her, completely dumbfounded. He finally stirred himself enough to venture into the library, to find Bobby sitting at his desk.

"Uh, Bobby," Sam began, but not finding words to finish his question.

"Don't ask," Bobby said, shaking his head. "They've been up to something all day and I can't get a word outa them."

Sam looked over to the door to the dining room, which was firmly closed. "Mom, too?" he asked.

"Yup," Bobby said. "To be honest, I haven't been complaining. Whatever it is, it's got Mal in a good mood."

Dean strolled in, tossing his bag into the corner. "What's going on?" he asked, looking between Bobby and Sam.

"No clue," Sam replied. He hooked his thumb in the direction of the kitchen. "The girls are up to something, though."

Dean raised his eyebrows. "Really?" he asked suspiciously.

"I know nothing," Bobby said, raising his hands.

The doorbell rang. The three men looked around each other for a moment, and then Sam went to answer the door. He recognized the woman on the front porch immediately. "Sheriff Mills," Sam greeted uncertainly. They hadn't seen much of the woman since she'd had to kill her resurrected son after Sioux Falls had its own zombie invasion.

"Sam," she replied dryly. "Believe it or not, I'm actually glad to see you. Can I come in?"

Sheriff Jodi Mills was one of the incredibly few surviving members of law enforcement that knew about the supernatural. She could potentially be an invaluable ally. Sam stepped to the side. "Sure." The woman stepped into the entryway, and Sam didn't miss the fact that her right hand rested on her hip, very close to her gun. He smiled tightly to himself. She still didn't fully trust them. That was okay. It was probably for the best.

Dean and Bobby both got to their feet, frowning in surprise as the Sheriff stepped into the library. "Sheriff," Bobby greeted cautiously.

Mills smiled dryly. "Relax, Singer. I'm not here to arrest you. I need your help."

"Yeah," Bobby said quickly. "Anything I can do."

She reached into her jacket and pulled out a file. "Take a look at these photos and tell me if they mean anything to you." She held it out. Bobby took it and flipped it open.

"These look like spellwork," Bobby said with a frown.

"Are they legit?" Mills asked, crossing her arms.

"I'd have to do a bit of checking," Bobby replied. "But at a glance, yeah. What are they from?"

"We've been having problems with this gang of kids for the past few months," Mills explained. "They've set themselves up as Satanists. You know, typical Goth teenage stuff. But yesterday an old warehouse south of town was vandalized." She pointed to the photos in Bobby's hand. "That's what we found. Most of the symbols were painted in blood. Human blood. And there's enough there for someone to have died."

Bobby flipped through the photos again. "Well, I can tell you this much, you aren't dealing with amateurs here. This one here is central for most of the dark arts." He held up one photo. "Your teenagers may not be behind this."

"Then we're in some trouble," Mills said grimly. "Because none of them showed up for school today and their parents haven't heard from them."

The door to the dining room opened and Mary stepped through, a towel draped over one shoulder. She looked Sheriff Mills up and down quickly. Sam recognized the threat assessment in his mother's eyes, the wariness about her body. He also knew that there were three knives hidden on his mother's person that few other people would be able to spot.

"Didn't know we had a guest," she said, raising an eyebrow at Bobby.

"Sheriff Mills, this is Mary Campbell," Bobby introduced. "Mary, Sheriff Jodi Mills."

"Pleasure," Mary said, extending her hand. Mills shook it warmly.

"Likewise," the Sheriff replied.

There was another quiet giggle and everyone looked over at the doorway. Sophia was peeking out around the door frame and Mal stood beside her. Sam gave Mal a close look. Bobby was right. She did look much better than when he'd left.

"Looks like you've got a full house, Singer," Mills said, her eyebrows climbing up her forehead.

"Tell me about it," Bobby muttered. "You want to take a few off my hands?"

"I might," Mills surprised them by saying. "I've got a second crime scene. We found it today. I was hoping someone could take a look at it. I've seen a lot of weird things..." she paused, an unreadable expression darting across her face. "But something about this is rubbing me the wrong way."

"We'll come," Dean said immediately. "Me and Sam. We'll see what we can do."

Bobby shuffled the pictures in his hands. "That okay with you?" he asked Mills.

She nodded, narrowing her eyes warily. "That's fine. But you're not taking any weapons to my scene. And I'm driving."

"That's fine," Sam said, holding up his hands. "We just want to help."

"I'll come," Mallory piped up, scrubbing her hands on her jeans. Mills obviously hesitated, but Sam beat her to the punch.

"I don't think that's a good idea," Sam said swiftly.

"Why not?" Mallory demanded, setting her hands on her hips.

Sam crossed the room to her. Sophia edged out of the way, moving to Mary's side. "Mal," Sam said, lowering his voice. "In your condition, you might be more vulnerable. I don't want you taking any risks until we know for sure."

A scowl gathered on her face. "I'm pregnant, Sam, not handicapped," she growled. "I don't need to be coddled."

"I'm not coddling you," he replied. "I'm protecting you."

"I can protect myself," she snapped.

"Mal, please," Sam put his hands on her shoulders. "Don't make this a big deal."

She jerked backwards out of his grasp. "Fine," she said tightly, and spun around on her heel, disappearing into the kitchen, leaving Sam feeling blindsided. Dean came up behind him and clapped him on the shoulder.

"Just think," he said cheerfully. "You've got nine more months of this to look forward to."

This was the first time Sam had ever entered a crime scene without using a fake badge. The drive to the scene had been a little on the awkward side, as Dean had claimed shotgun, relegating Sam to the back of the squad car. Mills had brought them to a squat, cement building surrounded by police tape and a crowd of curious onlookers.

"What is this place?" Dean asked as they got out of the car.

"Used to be a rec center," Mills replied, heading straight toward the the police line. "Lost funding. Nothing's been done with it since. City was planning on tearing it down."

A male officer met Mills before they reached the outer perimeter. "Sheriff," he greeted. "Can we send the forensic team in now?" he sounded annoyed.

"Soon," Mills replied curtly, waving the Winchester brothers ahead of her.

"Who are they?" the officer demanded.

"Experts," Mills told him. "Clear the scene. We'll need a few minutes."

Immediately through the front doors was a basketball court. Dean and Sam stopped in the doorway and looked around. "Huh," Dean said.

"Yeah," Sam agreed.

Walls, floor, and ceiling were covered in sigils, all drawn in blood. Sam drifted toward the right wall, eyes narrow. "Dean, come take a look at this," he called. Dean joined him. "These are summoning symbols," Sam murmured. "There's some major mojo behind this."

"So...should we be concerned?" Mills asked from behind them.

Sam crouched to get a better look. "I don't know," he said slowly. "There doesn't seem to be a system to this. Kinda reminds me of that tulpa house in Texas."

"Yeah, I remember that," Dean nodded. When Mills gave him an annoyed look, he elaborated, "Real symbols just thrown up in no order." He paused and glanced around. "No Blue Oyster Cult, though."

"I don't think this is a prank," Sam said, getting to his feet.

"There's more," Mills told them, nodding toward the far door. They followed her down the hallway and to a set of stairs into the basement. Ducking around pipes and furnaces, Mills led them to a corner lit by floodlights.

"Oh, crap," the brothers said at the same time.

"That bad?" Mills asked nervously.

Sam and Dean moved toward the altar. "Whoever did this knew what they were doing," Sam said. Dean reached over toward the clay bowl laying in front of the bloody human skull. Sam slapped his hand away and Dean glared. "Crime scene, dude," Sam reminded him. Dean gave him another glare but didn't try to touch anything again. Instead, he leaned over.

"Bird bones, human hair, wolf's bane," Dean listed. He pointed to a silver goblet crusted with something dark. "Betcha that's human."

"Yeah, and you smell that?" Sam tapped his nose.

"Yup," Dean replied.

"What?" Mills demanded.

"Sulfur," Sam told her. "Sure sign of demonic presence."

She rolled her eyes. "Fantastic. Demons."

"Sam, get a picture of that to Bobby," Dean instructed, indicating the symbol on the wall over the altar. Sam nodded and pulled out his cellphone.

XxxXxxX

Bobby's phone beeped. He glared at it. It was some newfangled thing Sam had insisted he get and he barely knew how to make a phone call, much less any of the other features it was supposed to have. "Mal!" he called. He waited a beat. "Mal! Get in here, girl!"

She charged into the library, still in a foul mood from her argument with Sam. Bobby didn't plan on cutting her any slack. He held out his phone. "This damn thing is beeping. Figure out what it wants." Mal took it from him with a scowl and glared down at it as if it had insulted her. She pushed a few buttons.

"Sam sent you a picture," she told Bobby. "Something they found at the scene he wants you to check out."

"What is it?" Bobby asked.

She handed him the phone back. "It's loading." She leaned over his shoulder to see the picture when it popped up on the screen. Bobby squinted at it for a moment. He was about to set the phone aside to grab a book when Mallory gasped from behind him and snatched the phone from his hand.

"The hell?" Bobby demanded, scowling up at her. She ignored him, punching buttons and pressing the phone to her ear.

"Sam?" she said frantically. "Where are you? Get out of there. Get out of there now!"

Bobby straightened at the urgency in her voice. "What is it, girl?" he asked. Mallory gave him a wide-eyed look but didn't reply, the phone still glued to her ear. Then there came a low _whump_ that Bobby could hear from where he was sitting and a sick crunch.

Mal clutched the phone even tighter. "_Sam!_"


	9. Chapter 9

"Sam!" Mallory called again, but the line was dead. She dropped the phone onto Bobby's desk and pressed the heel of her hand to her forehead, forcing her panic down enough to concentrate on the Mark.

"What's going on?" she heard Mary ask, but she didn't reply, pushing all distractions aside. It took longer than she'd like, but at length she dropped her hand and opened her eyes.

"He's alive," she announced to the room in general. "He's hurt, but he's alive."

Mary's face hardened. She snatched the keys to the Impala up from where Dean had left them. "Let's go," she ordered, already heading to the door. Bobby and Mal scrambled to follow. Mal's terse directions led them through town and to the scene of chaos. They weren't able to park anywhere near due to the crowd of onlookers and emergency personnel. Mal was out of car and sprinting toward the police tape before Mary turned the engine off.

The low, cement building had smoke pouring out of the broken windows and the back far corner had crumbled in on itself. Firefighters were picking over the rubble, calling out to each other. Mal ignored them all in favor of the two ambulances parked just inside the tape. A police officer intercepted her, blocking her way.

"You have to move back, miss," he ordered brusquely.

Mal could see beyond him into the closest ambulance, could see Sam's mop of tangled, sweaty hair and the curve of one bare shoulder. She tore her gaze away and looked up pleadingly at the officer. "That's my boyfriend," she told him, pointing at the ambulance. "Please."

"Let them through!" commanded a female voice. Sheriff Mills strode toward them. There were scrapes on her cheeks and a faint scent of smoke drifting about her, but otherwise she looked unharmed. The officer turned to look at her and Mallory used the distraction to duck under the tape and bolt toward the ambulance.

Sam was alert, talking to one of the EMTs as he inserted an IV into Sam's arm. Mal caught herself on the gurney, gripping the rail to keep from falling. Sam's head whipped around just in time for her to grab his face and crush her mouth against his. "Are you okay?" she panted after pulling away.

"Just a little banged up," he assured her. Mallory raked her gaze down Sam's body, noting the shallow gashes on his chest and arms, the bruises that were already forming, and the wet patch of blood on his right hip.

"Miss, I need you to step back," an EMT said, reaching out toward Mal. She dodged his hand but moved out of the way. Mary and Bobby joined them at that moment.

"What the hell happened?" Bobby demanded.

"Building blew up," Sam replied, enduring another pupil check to make sure he didn't have a concussion. "I'm okay," he said before anyone else could ask. "Mom, can you go check on Dean? They won't tell me anything."

Mary squeezed his hand before slipping off in search of her other son. Sam looked back at Mal. "If you hadn't warned us, we wouldn't have made it out in time," he told her in a low voice. "How'd you know?"

She swallowed. "That symbol," she said hoarsely. "It's Abaddon's sigil."

The two EMTs prepared to lift the gurney into the ambulance. "Are you riding along?" one asked Mal and Bobby.

"Yes," Mal said quickly.

"I'll meet you there," Bobby said, hooking his thumb over his shoulder. "Mary's pry riding with Dean."

Mallory climbed up into the ambulance, perching nervously at the edge of the bench. Sam reached over and took her hand. "Hey, Mal, relax," he told her. "I'm okay, I promise. I've had a lot worse."

She chuckled suddenly. "Yeah. I know." She tightened her hold on his hand. "I was just scared. I felt it...when the explosion went off."

He frowned. "We really need to get Cas to fix that. Take the Mark back."

Mal shook her head at him. "I already told you. It's forever." When Sam tried to reply, she leaned over and kissed him again. "Hey. I don't regret it, okay? Just leave it."

"Mal," Sam sighed.

"Leave it," she warned. He rolled his eyes and winced, trying to shift his weight off his injured hip.

"Sir, are you sure you don't want any painkillers?" one of the EMTs asked.

"I don't want to be knocked out," Sam replied.

"We won't knock you out," the EMT wheedled. "Just a small dose of morphine—"

"I don't want drugs," Sam snapped irately.

"We're less than five minutes out," the second EMT told his partner. "Let the doctors deal with him."

Mallory was directed to the waiting room when they arrived at the hospital, Bobby already there. "How'd he look?" he asked the girl when she joined him.

"Annoyed," Mal replied dryly.

Bobby chuckled. "I bet."

Mary strode in, her face set but her eyes worried. Mal felt cold apprehension wash through her. "Dean?" she demanded.

"Hasn't regained consciousness," Mary said, her voice clipped. "They're throwing around TBI but they won't know for sure until they get some tests done."

"Balls," Bobby muttered, snatching his cap off his head and running one hand over his thinning hair. Mallory pressed her palms together, forefingers resting against her lips. Without even thinking about it, she began praying.

_Castiel, we need you,_ she begged in Enochian. _Dean is hurt. Please. I know you're busy with the war. But if you can...if you can help him, please come._

"Singer!" They all turned to see Sheriff Mills striding toward them. "What the hell is going on?" she demanded, looking around at them. "We turned that building inside out. There were no explosives. Nothing."

"A demon doesn't need explosives," Mallory snapped, lowering her hands.

"Demon?" Mary echoed before Mills could reply. "You're sure?"

"The symbol they found on the wall," Mallory explained. "It was Abaddon's. He's here. On earth. He's coming after us, after _me_. I can't get away from him, can't get him out of my _head_." She clutched her head in her hands, feeling the short stubble prickle her palms. She was in danger of hyperventilating, her breath catching in her throat.

"Mal," Mary said gently. Mallory felt a light touch on her shoulder. She forced herself not to pull away. The touch became a hand, rubbing over her shoulder and down her back. "Mal, it's okay. Calm down. Breathe."

Mallory sucked in a deep breath, wrestling herself back under control. She lowered her arms and lifted her head. She needed to avoid making a scene. A bald girl going crazy in a hospital waiting room was sure to be noticed.

"You sure it was Abaddon?" Bobby asked, eying her closely. She nodded, swallowing hard.

"So let me get this straight," Mills said slowly. "Not only are demons real, but there's one gunning for you, and it's blowing up my town?"

Bobby sighed. "Looks like," he replied grimly.

"Okay, how do you stop it?" Mills demanded, putting her hands on her hips.

"We've got ways," Bobby assured her. "We'll take care of it."

"You'd better," Mills growled. "We were lucky today. Next time we might not be."

A nurse came over to them with a clipboard. "Sheriff, I don't have last names for the two patients we brought in," she said with a frown, peering down at her paperwork.

"Campbell," Mary said abruptly. Mills gave her a shrewd look.

The nurse nodded and wrote it down. "Are you their next of kin?" she asked, looking up at Mary.

"Yes, I'm—" Mary cut herself off. She couldn't say that she was their mother, not when she was physically only a few years older than Dean. "I'm their sister," she finished instead. "Older sister. What do you need?"

As Mary went with the nurse to discuss treatment options and insurance, Mal turned to Bobby and held out her hand. "Phone," she said. Bobby handed it over without a word. She dialed the house, waiting as it rang. The line finally picked up, though no one spoke. "Sophia," Mal said. "Listen, we might have a demon on the loose in the area. It may or may not be a heavyweight. In any case, just stay inside, all right? Don't leave the house for anything."

There was more silence from the other end, and then a small breath of air across the mouthpiece. "Sam's fine," Mal told the angel. "Dean's...he's still unconscious. He might have a brain injury, but they don't know yet. If you...if you could get a hold of Cas somehow...I think he'd want to know."

Mallory heard another breath. "Thanks," she said softly, and hung up, handing the phone back to Bobby. Mills shifted her weight, looking awkward.

"I didn't know Dean...how bad is it?" she asked softly.

"They don't know yet," Bobby repeated gruffly.

"Right," Mills said, running a hand through her dark hair. "I'm sorry, Singer."

"Yeah," Bobby mumbled, shoving his hands in his pockets.

Mills sighed. "I have to go get this mess sorted out. I'll try my best to keep Sam and Dean's names off the report."

"We'd appreciate that," Bobby nodded.

She returned the nod jerkily and left them to wait for news. Another nurse approached them. "Excuse me," he said, looking at Mallory. "Are you Mallory Singer?"

She'd almost forgotten she'd taken to using that surname. Mal blinked at him for a moment. "Yes," she blurted. "I am."

The nurse smiled at her reassuringly. "Sam is asking for you. If you'd follow me?"

Mal looked up at Bobby, who waved her on. "Go," he told her. "I'll stay with Mary."

The nurse led her through the hospital at a brisk pace, taking her to a recovery room and opened the door for her. "Here you go," he announced, still smiling. "If you need anything, just press the call button. My name's Mike, and I'm on shift for the next three hours."

"Thanks," Mal told him, and stepped into the room.

Sam was on the bed, staring out the window and picking at the blanket covering his legs. He didn't seem to notice her arrival until she reached the bed and touched his hand. He looked around at her. His eyes were unfocused, pupils dilated.

"They gave you painkillers, didn't they?" she asked.

"Yeah," Sam said slowly. "I told them...I didn't want any, but..." he trailed off with a frown. "Where's Mom?"

"Talking to a nurse about Dean," Mallory said quietly. Sam brightened.

"Dean. How is he? I bet he's pissed."

Mallory slipped her fingers into Sam's hand and squeezed. "Sam...Dean's got a brain injury," she told him gently. "He hasn't woken up yet."

Sam's face clouded again. "Is there anything we can do?" he demanded, his words slurred. "What are the doctors..."

"They're doing tests," Mal assured him.

"Is Cas here?" Sam asked. "He should've felt it when Dean got hurt."

"I called him, and I asked Sophia to call him, too," Mal replied. "If he can come, I'm sure he will."

"He has to come," Sam insisted, his other hand beginning its own restless movement. "Dean's his Marked. Cas has to come."

"Sam, I don't know," Mal said, reaching over to still Sam's other hand. Sam jerked his hands from her grasp and tried to stand up.

"I want to see him," he muttered.

Mal pushed him back onto the bed with strength disproportionate to her size and held him there with one hand to his chest. "No," she said firmly. "You're not going anywhere. Stay in bed." He gave her a pleading look that could probably have melted the heart of a snowman, but Mal managed to stand firm. He finally crossed his arms and turned to stare out the window again, coming dangerously close to pouting.

Mal sighed and fetched Sam's charts. Nursing school felt like a lifetime ago, but she still remembered the basics. Sam had cuts and abrasions over his torso and arms, internal bruising, and a badly lacerated hip (which he'd probably landed on). He'd be okay in a week or two. She replaced the charts and looked up to see Sam staring at her as if he'd never really looked at her before.

"What?" she asked, feeling suddenly self-conscious.

"You look kinda sexy bald," he said, tilting his head to the side. Mal's eyebrows shot up.

"Okay," she said slowly. "That would be the morphine talking."

"No, I mean it," Sam insisted. He reached over to pet her shaven head. "Makes your eyes more noticeable. You have pretty eyes."

She grabbed his wrist and placed his hand back on the bed. "Sam, you're high. Just stop talking, okay?"

"There's something else I need to tell you," Sam said, leaning forward. He grabbed her hand. "I've been thinking."

"Tell me later, when you're sober," Mal said, pushing him back against the pillow. He didn't let go of her hand.

"I want to tell you now," he frowned petulantly. Mal sighed.

"Okay. What is it?"

"The baby," Sam said.

Mallory froze. "What about the...baby?" she asked, her voice breaking over the last word. She couldn't bring herself to think of it that way, not yet.

Sam's drug-misted eyes bored into hers. "If it's not bad...if it's something good...and you keep it...then I want to be the father."

Her breath died in her lungs and she couldn't think of a response. Swallowing the sudden tightness in her throat, she leaned forward and kissed his forehead. "Go to sleep," she ordered in a whisper. Sam closed his eyes. A moment later, his breathing deepened, leaving Mallory alone and still in shock.

Mallory looked up sharply when Bobby walked into Sam's room a couple hours later. "How's Dean?" she demanded immediately.

"He woke up," Bobby told her. "Just for a minute. But the doctors think he's gonna be okay,"

She closed her eyes and exhaled slowly. "Good," she murmured. "That's good."

"Mary's with him now," Bobby said, scratching the back of his neck. "Hasn't left his side since they finished the tests."

"What were the results?" Mal asked, opening her eyes again.

Bobby shrugged. "He's got a bad concussion. His custard's been rattled a bit. But he's a tough nut to crack. He'll pull through. How's Sam?"

"High as a kite," Mallory replied, rubbing her eyes. "Do you have any idea how annoying he is like that?"

"Yeah, actually, I do," Bobby said dryly.

Mallory huffed a dry laugh and shook her head. "He's been sleeping off and on. Every time he wakes up, he forgets that he's been hurt and tries to get out of bed. One time he thought he was here on a ghost hunt and started looking for his shotgun."

"Sounds about right," Bobby confirmed. "You should see him drunk."

"No, thank you," Mal replied. "I've got my hands full as it is."

"You gonna be good for a while more?" Bobby asked. "I'm gonna go back to the house to pick up a few things for Mary, grab some food, and bring Sophia back here."

"You do remember the part where she's an angel, right?" Mal raised an eyebrow.

"Yeah, well, that's hard to keep in mind when she's wearing the littlest cancer patient," Bobby retorted. "I'd just feel better if she's with us."

Mal didn't reply, conceding the point. "I'd like a change of clothes," she said. "And..." she trailed off, then took a deep breath. "Something to..." she gestured toward her head.

"I'll see what I can do," Bobby told her, patting her shoulder. To Mallory's pleasant surprise, it was getting easier to let people other than Sam touch her.

"Oh, Bobby," she said quickly. "I, uh, left my notebook in my room. Would you mind grabbing it for me?"

"Will do." He patted her shoulder again and left the room. Mallory twisted in the chair, vainly searching for a more comfortable position, and discovered there was none to be had.

XxxXxxX

_Sam is kneeling in front of her, his shoulders pressed against her stomach. Her left hand is tangled in his hair, pulling his head back. Her right hand holds the angel-sword across his throat, the metal fever-hot._

_There are voices around them but they make no sense, meaningless gibberish. The air is dry and smells of blood and burned flesh. Sam breathes heavily; she can feel each one press against her abdomen. His heart races, crashing in her ears._

"_Mal," he says softly, but he is afraid. She feels his fear pulsing in her soul. "Mal, it's okay. It's gonna be okay. You just have to fight him."_

_She waits. It's not time yet. But she doesn't release him. There are plans for him. The voices continue murmuring around her, some calm, some frantic. She doesn't listen; none of them matter. She waits. It's almost time. He whispers to her, promises. Once more. Once more and it will all be over. Never again._

_Now._

_She drags the blade across Sam's throat, cutting deep to ensure fatality. She releases her hold on his hair and he crumples at her feet. It doesn't take long until there is a large pool of crimson on the red stone. She crouches and dips a finger into the warm liquid. With practiced strokes, she draws the symbol onto the ground._

_**Kill Sam Winchester.**_

Mallory sat up with a gasp, clutching the arms of the hard, plastic chair. Dry, cool air kissed her sweaty skin, raising gooseflesh. She shuddered, trying to even out her breathing, and forced the lingering images of the nightmare away. She looked over at Sam. He was sleeping peacefully, the moonlight filtering in through the window gilding his features silver. Mal watched him for a moment, watched his chest rise and fall, felt the beat of his heart against the Mark in her soul, and then she got to her feet and slipped out of the room.

There was a drink machine just down the hall from Sam's room. She could still see the door when she stood in front of the lit plastic panel advertising ice-cold Coke products. Fishing in her pockets for change, she selected a bottle of water and took a long drink after it was dispensed. She rolled the bottle against her forehead.

"Bad dreams?"

Mallory spun around, the bottle hitting the floor and spraying water everywhere. Standing not two yards away from her was a thin man wearing a charcoal pinstriped suit. His dark hair was slicked back and his dark eyes seemed to swallow the light. He leaned against a steel-headed cane. A blood-red rose was tucked in his lapel.

Her knees went weak and it was all she could do to stay on her feet. She had never been more afraid than she was in that moment, even when she'd faced down Lucifer, twice. She'd had Amitiel, then. "I won't let you hurt them," she whispered. "You'll have to kill me first."

Abaddon smiled. "I don't want to kill you, darling," he told her. "I want you back here, at my side."

Mallory reached out to hold herself up on the drink machine. "Never," she rasped. "I'd rather die."

He winked. "No, I think you won't. Never underestimate the influence of maternal instinct."

She laughed, a sick, manic sound that held no humor. "You know nothing," she said, her voice barely audible.

He walked toward her. "I know this." He leaned in to whisper into her ear. She didn't dare move or even breathe. "Next time we meet," he hissed, "You'll deal."

Mallory sat up with a gasp, clutching the arms of the hard, plastic chair. Sweat prickled in her short hair and her chest heaved as if she'd just run a marathon. She turned to check on Sam. The first light of dawn leaked through the window, illuminating his face just enough for her to see he was sleeping peacefully.

She closed her eyes. "Sophia," she whispered. "I need you now."

Not two minutes later, the soft pad of footsteps sounded just outside the door and Sophia appeared in the doorway. She'd changed out of the teddy bear scrubs into a pair of worn jeans and a t-shirt with a dinosaur on the front. Her bare scalp was covered by a too-large, blue stocking cap emblazoned with a lightning bolt. Mallory blinked at her.

"Where'd you get those?" she asked, distracted by the angel's outfit.

Sophia looked down at herself, fingers plucking at her shirt. She looked up and nodded toward Sam's slumbering form. Mal glanced from the angel to the young man and back, not understanding. Sophia nodded at Sam again and then held out her hand at her own eye-height, tapping her chest with her other hand.

"Sam's clothes?" Mal asked in confusion. "When he was younger?"

Sophia nodded. Mal still didn't understand until she remembered that Sam and Dean spent a lot of time at Bobby's when they were children. It was not beyond the realm of imagination to expect they'd left a few things behind.

Sophia walked over to Mal and reached up to brush her tiny fingers against the girl's temples. Mal shook her head. "Not a flashback. Bad dream. Sophia, I need more." The angel dropped her hands and pressed her lips together. "I don't care if it's too soon," Mal replied to the silent refusal. "Please."

Sophia hesitated for a long moment before relenting. Mallory fished under the collar of her shirt and pulled out a crystal vial. It was filled with opal colors, white and blue and green and purple, all shimmering in the dim, dawn light. Sophia reached out and lifted the vial and its chain from around Mal's neck. She studied it for a long moment, tilting it to swish the liquid within. Then she carefully opened the top.

The light swelled, trying to escape its bondage, but Sophia held it back, allowing only a tiny amount to waft upwards. Sophia gathered the light in her palm, stirring it with one finger and breathing on it gently. She lifted her hand to Mal's lips, and Mal parted them to let the angel tip the light into her mouth.

It burned like fire and cooled like water, tasting of rain and lightening, pain and pleasure all wrapped up together. Mal's vision whited out for a moment before it was over, leaving her gasping and breathless. "Whoa," she said softly. Sophia slipped the chain back over her head, tucking the vial under her shirt to rest against her breastbone.

The child-sized angel suddenly crouched beside Mal's chair, opening the bag Mal hadn't noticed was there. Sophia rummaged around for a moment before pulling out a shapeless wad of knitted material and handing it to Mallory. Mal took it slowly, unfolding it to find a bright yellow and red cap with ear flaps and a large pom-pom on top. She stared down at it blankly.

With an impatient sigh, Sophia took it back out of Mal's hands and pulled it down over Mal's head, straightening it with a tug. Then she beamed approvingly at the girl. Mal reached up to finger one ear flap hesitantly. "Bobby got this for me?" she asked skeptically.

Sophia frowned, affronted, and tapped her chest before tugging at the cap again. Mal raised an eyebrow. "_You_ got this for me?" The angel nodded proudly, tilting her head to get a better look. Then she nodded again, satisfied this time, and stepped back.

"_I_ like it."

Mal twisted around to see Sam awake and watching them. "How long have you been awake?" Mal demanded.

"Long enough to see the light show," Sam replied. He sat up. "What was that about, anyway?"

"How are you feeling?" Mal asked, dodging the question. "The doctor said they were weaning you off the morphine."

"I'll live," Sam replied tersely. "What were you guys doing?"

Mal glanced aside at Sophia, who just shrugged and held up her hands. "Thanks, you're a lot of help," Mal said sarcastically. The angel gave her a sweet smile and folded her hands behind her back, bouncing on the toes of her battered sneakers. Mal sighed and turned back to Sam. She tugged the vial back out into the open. "You know what this is?"

"That's angel's Grace," Sam replied neutrally.

"This is _Ami's_ Grace," Mal corrected. "Sophia asked the other angels to look for it and one brought it to us yesterday morning. Sophia's been feeding it to me bit by bit. I can't take it all at once or I'll explode...or something. Sophia wasn't really clear on that detail."

Sam blinked at her. "She's been feeding you Ami's Grace," he echoed flatly.

Mallory nodded patiently. "She thinks it'll help with the flashbacks and the nightmares."

"You're absorbing an angel's Grace," Sam said for a second time.

She threw her hands up in exasperation. "Yes, Sam, I'm absorbing an angel's Grace. It was damaged when I received it from Ami and it wants to be whole again."

Sam rubbed the back of his head. "So what will this mean for you?"

"I won't have super powers," Mal told him. "Or at least, not many. I'm not an angel. I can't use the Grace like one of them would. But I will be able to do a few things."

"Huh," Sam said. He tilted his head. "I meant what I said, by the way."

Mal felt her heart skipping a beat, running over everything Sam had said. "What?"

He grinned at her. "I _do_ like the hat."

XXXXXX

A/N: I'm not really all that good at doing individual review replies, but I wanted to let you guys know that every review is cherished and much appreciated. Your encouragement is really motivating and I'm just so happy that someone actually likes what I have to offer. Thanks so much and please, please, please keep reviewing.


	10. Chapter 10

Mallory found herself smiling back at Sam. "Well, in that case I guess I'll keep it," she said. Sophia giggled and clapped her hands delightedly. Then she cocked her head, her eyes suddenly distant, and zipped out of the room as only tiny bodies could. Mal and Sam blinked after her. "Someone must have called for her," Mal guessed.

"That reminds me," Sam said. "How's Dean?"

"He woke up," Mal told him. "Doctors think he's gonna pull through."

"Of course he is," Sam said stubbornly. "Dean's not gonna bite it because of an explosion. That's not cool enough."

Mal laughed and bent to retrieve the bag from the floor. "Well, considering the freakin' Apocalypse wasn't cool enough either, now I'm curious to see what fits the criteria."

Sam thought for a moment. "Dinosaurs," he suggested.

"Ninja dinosaurs," Mal corrected. She giggled. "Ninja velociraptors with hang gliders."

Sam laughed, shaking his head at her. "Now who's on morphine?" he teased. Mal giggled again and pulled out a navy-blue t-shirt with the word "Angel" printed across the front. Mal stared at it for a minute.

"Really funny, Bobby," Mal muttered and reached into the bag again. This time she discovered one of Sam's button-ups. "That's better."

"You know, I'm going to run out of shirts if you keep this up," Sam pointed out.

"Tough," Mal retorted. "I'm going to change and then check on Mary and Dean. You need anything?"

"Nah, I'm fine," Sam said, waving a hand. "See you later."

Mal stuffed the clothes back into the bag and hitched it over her shoulder. She'd made it to the door when Sam called her back.

"Hey, Mal."

She turned to face him, eyebrow raised inquiringly.

"Look, I know how I can get on painkillers," Sam said. "Whatever I did, or anything I said, I'm just gonna apologize now."

Mal froze, clutching the strap of the bag. "You don't remember?" she asked hoarsely.

He scratched the side of his head. "Not really," he replied apologetically.

Mal couldn't stop the sudden sick feeling in her stomach. "Yeah. Okay," she managed to get out, before turning and fleeing the room. She made it to the bathroom before bursting into tears, locking herself into the nearest stall. She knew her reaction was illogical. She didn't know if her pregnancy was even a good thing much less whether or not she wanted to keep it. So really, finding out that Sam's offer was nothing more than a result of painkillers shouldn't have hurt this much.

She forced the tears to stop, berating herself for her weakness, and quickly changed into the clean clothes. She washed her face to hide the evidence of tears and tucked the vial of Ami's Grace under her t-shirt. She laid her hand over where it hid, feeling the warmth from the crystal soak into her skin. It was comforting, almost like having Ami with her again. Almost.

At the bottom of the bag was her notebook. She stared at it for a minute before shoving her dirty clothes on top of it and shouldering the bag. She stopped at the front desk to ask where Dean's room was and went straight there. Dean was awake when she walked in. He flicked his eyes in her direction.

"Nice hat," he said, the words sounding labored.

Mal forced a smile. "Thanks. Sophia picked out for me."

"I think it's quite fetching," Mary said with a gentle smile.

Mal walked over to Dean's bedside and looked down at him. He had a large bandage taped to his left temple. "How do you feel?" she asked.

"Mmm...drugs," he mumbled back. Mal looked over at Mary, who nodded.

"He's still on the morphine drip," she said quietly.

"Sam," Dean said, still looking at Mal. "He okay?"

"He's fine," Mal assured him. "How long are they going to keep him here?" she asked Mary.

"Another night for observation," Mary told her. "I'll be happy to get him home. I don't think any demon would attack us while we're here, but I don't want to take any chances."

Mal pressed her lips together. "I wouldn't be too sure," she murmured, too quietly for Mary to hear.

"Cas," Dean said, stirring faintly. Mary put a hand on his shoulder.

"Yes, we've called him, sweetheart. He'll come if he can."

"No, _Cas_," Dean insisted, gesturing weakly. Mallory spun around.

Castiel stood on the other side of the room, and he looked terrible. His blue eyes, normally bright and intense as lasers, were dull and cloudy. His hair stood in all directions and his shoulders slumped as if carrying a heavy burden. To Mallory's eyes, his six wings were limp and listless, the glimmer gone from the pinions.

"Cas," she whispered. "What the hell happened to you?"

He visibly rallied himself, his emotionless mask in place. "I'm fine," he rumbled, his voice even rougher than it usually was. He walked over to the bed. "Dean."

Dean scowled at the archangel. "You look like crap," he said bluntly.

"_Dean,_" Castiel said again, pointedly this time. Dean subsided reluctantly. "I came as soon as I could," the angel went on. "Sophia told me your injuries weren't life-threatening, so I..." he trailed off, his head twitching. "I'm being called for. I'm sorry, but I need to go." He reached down and touched Dean's forehead swiftly before lifting his wings to depart. Mallory caught hold of the nearest one.

Castiel froze, his back stiff. Mallory knew exactly what she'd done. She knew that an angel's wings were extensions of their Grace, and that they only let those close to them handle them like this. Castiel slowly turned his head toward her, expression unreadable. "Castiel," Mallory said softly in Enochian. "You are not fine. Please tell me what is happening."

He didn't reply for a moment. Then he tugged his wing gently from her grasp. She let it go without protest. "Raphael is stronger than I expected," he replied at length. Mallory reached into her pocket and pulled out the crystal weapon.

"You'll need this back, then," she said, offering it to Castiel. He took it and made it disappear.

"Thank you," he replied.

"God be with you," Mallory whispered.

Castiel gave her a sharp look and departed without answering.

XxxXxxX

"Look, all I want is a frickin' beer," Dean protested. "I've spent two nights in a hospital and I want something to drink."

"Alcohol and head injuries don't mix," Mary insisted, hands on her hips.

Sam didn't look up from where he was studying his laptop on the couch. "Cas healed him, didn't he? He should be fine, Mom."

"Thank you," Dean said. He turned back to his mother. "See? I'm all good. Can I have a beer now?"

Mal brushed past Mary into the living room, handing Dean a brown bottle. She crossed the room wordlessly and disappeared upstairs. Everyone paused to look after her. "I can never tell what is wrong with her anymore," Dean said with a frown. "Sam?"

"I don't know, either," he said, shrugging. "One minute she was fine, the next..."

"Mood swings," Dean huffed. "Gotta love 'em." Mary smacked him in the arm. "Ow! What was that for?"

"It could have nothing to do with her pregnancy," Mary informed him sharply. "She was tortured to the point of breaking, which she _still_ has nightmares about. It's entirely possible she's depressed, Dean."

"Crap," Dean said, all humor gone. "The last time she was depressed, she tried to kill herself."

Mary hissed in a breath. "You don't think..?" she began. They both turned to Sam.

He closed the laptop. "I'll go talk to her." He found Mallory in her bedroom, sitting cross-legged on the bed. "Hey. Everything okay?"

"Fine," she replied shortly without looking up from her notebook. Sam leaned against the door frame.

"I know that's a lie, Mal."

"No, it's a 'please don't ask any more questions'," she said, a bite to her voice. Sam sighed and stepped into the room, unable to hide the slight limp.

"Mal, please don't shut down like this. We're worried about you. _I'm _worried about you."

She paused, pen tumbling from her fingers. Her right hand went to the scar on the inside of her left arm, probing the thin, white line. "I won't hurt myself," she said bitterly.

"I didn't say you would," Sam began.

"That's what you were thinking," she interrupted. "I heard what Dean said, Sam. First hint of something wrong and I'm on the suicide watch. I get it."

He rubbed his face in frustration. "No, Mal. It isn't like that. Just listen to me, okay? I want to know what's wrong because I want to help you. Please. Let me help."

She looked up, her normally pale eyes dark with fury and, if Sam wasn't mistaken, fear. "Help me?" she echoed in disbelief. "Fine. You want to help me? Then help me find out why the hell I'm pregnant, Sam! Can you do that? Can you take away the nightmares? Or how about keep Abaddon from coming to me in my dreams? Can you do _that_?" She grabbed the nearest book and flung it at the wall, uncaring of how old or valuable it was.

"Every time I go to sleep, Sam," she said, sounding desperate. "I have the nightmares. And _every damn time_ I wake up to his voice telling me to kill you."

"Mal," Sam sighed. He headed toward the bed, stopping to retrieve the book. A slip of paper fluttered from the pages and he picked that up, too. He was about to slide it back into place when the writing caught his eye. He froze. "What is this?" he demanded.

"What is what?" Mal asked, sullen at having the subject changed. Sam reached the bed and tossed the book onto the coverlet beside the girl. He held up the paper.

"This. What the hell is this?"

"What did you expect me to do, Sam? Sit around and wait for this thing to eat its way out of me?" Mallory snapped defensively. "We don't know what it is. It could be Satan's child for all we know. I'm just getting prepared for the worst."

Sam crumpled the paper in one hand. "Well, before you went looking for the numbers of local planned parenthood clinics, you should have come to me," he said harshly.

"Why?" Mal retorted. "It's not like you're the father."

Sam felt like he'd been slapped in the face. "I told you we'd do this together," he said stiffly, looking down at her.

She exhaled through her nose and shook her head. "You don't have to keep pretending, Sam," she said wearily. "I know..." her voice caught. "I know it's not what you want." She was close to tears and barely keeping it together. Sam sat gingerly on the bed next to her. She turned her head away.

"What made you think that?" Sam asked softly. She was so fragile it would only take the tiniest hit to completely shatter her. She shook her head and rubbed fretfully at her eyes. Sam reached over and caressed the curve of her neck. She shivered. "Mal, tell me what made you think that."

"While you were in the hospital," she whispered brokenly. "You said—you said it was just the drugs. That you didn't even remember."

Sam frowned. "Remember what?"

"You told me you wanted to be the father," Mal breathed.

Sam closed his eyes and cursed mentally. "I told you that?" he asked flatly. She nodded. "Mal," he said softly. "I meant that part."

Her head whipped up fast enough to dislodge his hand. "You did?" she asked in disbelief.

"Yeah," he told her. "I was talking about the ghost-hunting part."

Mallory launched herself at him, throwing her arms around his neck. Sam caught her before she sent them both tumbling off the bed. She crushed her mouth against his, desperate and needy and relieved all at once. Sam gave her everything she asked for.

When Mallory whimpered softly against Sam's lips, he didn't think anything of it until a second later, when she gasped. He recognized the sound of pain instantly. Pulling back from her, he reached up to cradle her face in one hand.

"What is it?" he demanded.

Her face was creased in confusion. "I—I don't know," she murmured. Then she gave a low cry and doubled over, clutching at her stomach. "It _hurts_!"

Sam's anxiety ratcheted up. "What hurts? Mal. _Mal._ Talk to me. What hurts?"

"Everything," she moaned back, trying to curl up into a fetal position.

Sam ran his hand soothingly over her head as he helped her lay down. "Sophia!" he called. She was across the hall in the other bedroom. "Sophia!"

The waist-high angel darted in, skidding to a halt on stocking feet. She took one look at the situation and bolted toward the bed, clambering up next to Mallory and pressing one palm to the girl's forehead and the other to her stomach. Sophia's tiny brow furrowed with concentration and effort. Mal groaned, long and agonized, and a spasm gripped her muscles. Sam was poised to jump into action, except there was nothing he could do.

"What is going on?" he demanded.

The silent angel threw him a quelling look and went back to work. Mal hiccuped another small cry and jerked her head away from Sophia's hand. The angel quickly replaced it. Mal's back arched, a scream starting deep in her chest and ripping free from her throat. White light blazed from her eyes and the light bulb overhead exploded. Books flew from the bed and Sam felt like he'd been punched in the chest.

Dean appeared in the doorway. "The hell?" he demanded, eyes wide. Mary was right behind him.

"Stay back!" Sam ordered, and then went back to holding Mallory down. She thrashed and fought against him. Sophia lifted her hand from Mallory's chest and ripped the chain from around the girl's neck, flinging it across the room. It hit the ground with a soft chime, lying there twinkling serenely. Mallory abruptly went limp in Sam's arms, her breath coming in shallow, labored flutters. Sophia sat back with a weary sigh, rubbing her hand over her eyes.

"What. The hell. Was that?" Dean asked.

Sophia shook her head at him and Sam took a closer look at the angel. She looked drained and strung-out, as if she'd just fought a battle. Mallory opened her eyes. "Sam," she whispered.

"Right here," he assured her, holding her a little closer. "How do you feel?"

"Horrible," she murmured. Then she smiled. Before Sam could ask what was making her so happy, Dean strode into the room.

"Mal, the hell is going on? Are you okay?"

She slanted her eyes at him. "Yeah," she whispered. "I'm good now."

"Was it a flashback?" Mary asked. "Or did you take in too much Grace?"

"Grace," Mallory said softly. "No...the Grace. Someone was trying to take it away."

"Take it away?" Sam echoed. "Who?"

She smiled again. "The baby, Sam."

"The baby is a week old," Mary interjected. "How could it do this?"

Mal struggled for a moment before Sam realized what she wanted and helped her sit up. "It couldn't," she replied, still smiling. "Unless it belonged to her in the first place."

They all stared at her blankly, not understanding. Mal pressed a hand to her abdomen. "What happens," she asked quietly. "When an angel tears out their Grace?" 

It was Dean who got it first. "Holy shit," he blurted. "You can't be serious. You don't really think..." he trailed off, unable to finish the sentence.

"It's true," Mallory insisted. "It's the only explanation. And-and Sophia felt it, too." The little angel nodded confirmation.

"I don't—I don't understand," Mary said, looking around at them.

Sam stared at Mallory. "When an angel tears out their Grace," he said slowly. "They're born as humans." He took her face in both hands. "You're sure?"

She nodded. "Positive."

Dean ran his hand over his short hair. "This is messed up. This—no. Seriously?"

Mallory suddenly threw her head back and started laughing. Then she burst into tears, clinging to Sam as both emotions warred for dominance. "Proximity to her Grace set off a natural reaction," she hiccuped when she finally started calming down. "Sophia had to create a barrier to keep her separate from it." 

"Her?" Mary repeated. "You mean the baby?"

Mallory shook her head. "No, I mean Ami." She took a deep breath and started laughing again. "I'm pregnant with _Amitiel._"

XxxXxxX

Dean paced the length of the kitchen, paused to stare at the wall for a moment, then spun on his heel to pace the same distance back. He looked down at Mal, who silently handed him another beer. He took it and drank half of it in one go.

"Let me get this straight," he said. He pointed down at the young woman. "You got some of Ami's Grace when Lucifer tore it up." She nodded. "And some of it just sort of...escaped." She nodded again. "One of the angels rounded it up and Sophia's been giving it to you a little at a time."

"Because it wants to be whole," Mal said helpfully.

"Right," Dean said. He finished his beer. "And you having more of Ami's Grace set off a reaction with...the baby." He made a face. "It was trying to take the Grace back?"

"It's instinctive," Mallory explained. "Ami, and her Grace. Two halves of a whole. Of course, she's completely incapable of taking it back at this point. That's why Sophia was able to build the barrier."

Dean set down his empty beer bottle and rubbed his hands over his face. "And you're positive it's Ami?" he asked sceptically. "I mean, come on." He turned to his brother. "Help me out here, Sam."

Sam shrugged. "If she's sure, then I believe her," he said. He laughed softly. "I mean, this is probably the best news since..." He looked over at Mal. "It's good. It's a good thing."

She hadn't stopped smiling. "I know."

"Wait, what's that supposed to mean?" Mary asked, looking from her son to Mal and back. Mal's smile faltered and she looked down at her hands. Sam closed his own much-larger hand around hers and met his mother's gaze.

"We actually didn't know how the pregnancy happened," he told her.

"No, I specifically remember giving you the 'Birds and Bees' talk, Sam," Dean interjected, crossing his arms. Sam gave him an annoyed look.

"Mal and I..." he cut himself off. Mal was blushing bright red. "There was never an opportunity," he finished instead.

Mary rubbed at her eyes. "You had no idea why she was pregnant and you didn't tell us?" she asked.

"Yeah," Sam replied. He looked from his mother to Dean. "There's no way I'm getting out of this, is there?"

"Hell no," Dean snapped. "What on earth where you thinking, Sam? It could have been dangerous. Something like this happens, and you friggin' tell us."

"This is why we didn't," Sam retorted. "We'd just gotten out of hell, Dean. Mal didn't need you freaking out on her, okay? I just wanted some time to figure things out."

"And if you didn't?" Dean demanded.

"Then we would have come to you," Sam shot back.

"Hey!" Mal interrupted, standing up. "Can we just..." she trailed off. "It doesn't matter anymore. This...this is a good thing." Her voice trembled. "Ami's alive, and even if this is weirding the hell out of me, I'm going to have a baby. Can we just be happy about that? Please?"

Mary instantly crossed over to her and drew her into a hug. Mallory melted into it, relishing the feeling of being held by someone who cared for her. "I am happy," Mary whispered into her ear. "Unbelievably happy." She pulled away, gripping Mal by her shoulders. "I've had my family back how long and we're already growing?" She leaned forward to kiss Mal on the forehead. "Congratulations, sweetheart."

"Thank you," Mallory said through a tight throat.

Dean reached over and punched Sam in the arm. "Ow!" Sam exclaimed, rubbing the bruised spot. "What was that for?"

"You're gonna be a freakin' _father_," Dean said, smirking. Then his expression changed to stunned. "I'm gonna be an uncle," he said, as if he couldn't believe what he was saying. He shook his head. "I need another beer." He headed towards the refrigerator.

Mary chuckled. "Bobby is going to go nuts when he hears about this," she said. The older hunter had left early that morning to give Rufus Turner a hand with a sudden surge of demon possessions in Idaho.

"Not it!" Mal piped up, darting to Sam's side and hiding behind him. He laughed and turned around to face her. She latched onto the front of his shirt. "I'm going to have a baby," she whispered.

"I know," he murmured back, and kissed her.

"Well, I'm gonna be...elsewhere," Dean announced loudly and retreated. Sam smirked. Dean had no problem whatsoever romancing women wherever happened to be convenient, but turned into a complete prude when it came to Sam and Mal.

Mal abruptly broke the kiss. "Cas!" she said excitedly.

"What?" Sam asked, his attention elsewhere.

"I get to tell Cas that Ami's alive," she told him. "Sam, he's going to be thrilled!"

"Yeah, I guess he will," Sam agreed. He stole another quick kiss. "Are we good?" he asked Mal, peering down at her.

She nodded. "Yeah. We're good." She hesitated, then continued. "I'm sorry."

"You don't have to apologize," he assured her.

"Hey, Sam!" Dean called from the living room. Sam frowned, annoyed. "Sam, get in here!" Sam huffed and released Mal, giving her an apologetic look. She shrugged. Sam prowled into the living room.

"What?" he demanded.

Dean was watching the news on Bobby's ancient, rabbit-ear television set. "What was the name of that lady who was living in our old house?" he asked without taking his eyes from the screen.

Sam frowned again at the odd question, but still rummaged around his memory for the answer. "Uh...Jenny, I think."

"Yeah. Jenny." Dean pointed his beer bottle at the TV. Sam looked.

"Holy crap," he whispered.

It was their old house in Laurence, Kansas, and it was in flames.

Two hours later, they were still on the phone.

"Thank you sir, that's what I needed to know," Sam said, and hung up. He reached over to cross another name off his list. Dean sat across the kitchen table from him, phone tucked under his chin while he scribbled on a pad of paper.

"Uh-huh. Uh-huh. Yes. Thank you." Dean hung up and tossed his cell phone onto the table. "Son of a bitch," he muttered. "I'm gonna..."

"Do we know it's Abaddon?" Sam asked.

"Who the hell else would it be?" Dean demanded. He was pale and grim, the muscles in his jaw tight. "He's gone back to everyone we saved since you left Stanford and he's killing them one by one. Haley and Ben, torn apart by wild animals. Andrea and Lucas, drowned. Amanda, plane crash. You want me to go on?"

"God, no," Sam said, rubbing his hand over his face.

"We've been out of hell for five fucking days, man," Dean protested. "How the hell he do this so fast?"

"I don't know," Sam replied. He looked over at his laptop and the news article pulled up on the screen. "Siblings Tortured to Death in St. Lois," the headline read. He reached over and closed the computer with more force than necessary. He hadn't seen or even spoken to Rachel and Zach for five years, but it still hurt.

"This is unbelievable," Dean growled, getting up to pace. "Why? Why the hell would he do this?"

"Does he need a reason?" Sam asked hopelessly. "He's the king of hell, Dean. I'm pretty sure he can do whatever he wants."

"He wants me."

Sam and Dean twisted to look at Mal in the doorway. She stepped into the kitchen, twisting her hands together. The vial of Ami's Grace was once more around her neck, this time out in the open. "He wants me," she said again. "At the hospital, he came to me. In a dream, I think. He said..." She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. "He said that he wanted me back at his side." She opened her eyes. "That the next time I saw him, I'd make a deal."

Sam was out of his chair and across the room before he could stop to think. He grabbed Mal by the shoulders and glared down at her fiercely. "That's never going to happen," he growled. "No one's making a deal with him, you hear me?"

Her breathing hitched and he shook her gently. "You hear me?" he repeated.

She nodded. "Yes," she whispered.

Sam pulled her into a protective embrace. "We're going to stop him," he said firmly. He looked over at Dean. "Who's the next on the list? Who's the next target?"

Dean picked up his piece of paper. "Sarah Blake, from Maine. Remember her?"

Sam nodded. "I remember."


	11. Chapter 11

Sam looked up when another duffel thudded down next to the others. Mal stood next to him, wearing the hat Sophia had picked out for her. He glanced down at the bag and back up to her. "What do you think you're doing?" he asked.

"I'm going with you," she replied simply.

"No," Sam replied instantly. "Absolutely not."

She crossed her arms over her chest. "Sam, you're gonna need all the help you can get," she told him.

"And if Abaddon is there, we'll be handing you right to him," Sam retorted. "You're not going."

"You, Dean, and Mary are all going," Mal pointed out. "Don't you think I'd be safer with you guys?"

"Sophia will be here."

"Sam, Sophia isn't a warrior. She couldn't even protect herself against Raphael. Besides, you could probably use her, too."

"Mal, it's too dangerous," Sam said, shaking his head. "I'm not putting you at risk. Especially not now."

She raised an eyebrow and reached into one pocket. She held up the crystal vial. It was empty. "I have all of Ami's Grace, now," she said. "I can protect myself."

Sam shook his head again. "No. And that's final."

Mal narrowed her eyes. The lamp next to them flickered, and then went out. Then the overhead light switched off. After that, Sam heard a series of clicks as every light in the house shut off. Then, one by one, they all came back on.

Sam blinked. "That's impressive, but I don't see how it's going to stop a demon from attacking you."

She huffed in annoyance. "I'm a walking EMF generator, Sam," she told him impatiently. "I'll be able to sense a demon's presence and get the hell out of there. I won't put myself in harm's way, I promise. But I also just so happen to have an angel's worth of protection and warding knowledge. It might come in handy."

Sam hesitated, still not fully convinced. Mallory continued in a rush, "Besides, when you left before, the nightmares got worse. Please, Sam. It's easier when I'm with you."

He blew out a sigh. "Fine," he said with great reluctance. He pointed a finger at her. "But you do exactly as I say, when I say, got it?"

She beamed. "Got it." Bouncing up onto her toes, she kissed his cheek, grabbed her bag, and darted out the front door.

XxxXxxX 

The gallery was in a state of controlled chaos as they prepared for that night's event. The caterers were setting up their tables while the gallery designer instructed laborers where to move the showcased pieces. The florist and her assistants sprinkled the rooms with tasteful arrangements.

And in the middle of it all stood Sarah Blake, reading over the checklist in her hand. She reached up to slide the pen out of her messy, dark bun and crossed a few things off. She glanced up to double-check, and crossed another item off. Tapping the pen against her lips, she began to stroll through the displays, her sharp eyes missing nothing.

"Miss Blake?"

Sarah didn't turn at the sound of Leslie's voice, continuing to scrutinize the sculpture in front of her. "Yes?" she murmured distractedly.

"Miss, there's a man here who wants to speak with you. He doesn't have an appointment but he says he's an old friend," Leslie prattled nervously as she always did right before an event.

"If he's an old friend, then he could have given a name," Sarah replied sharply, reaching out to adjust the placard for the statue.

"It's Sam Winchester."

Sarah spun around with a gasp. Her eyes widened. The man standing behind Leslie did bear a strong resemblance to the Sam Winchester she had met five years ago, but he was also dramatically different. His hair was longer, for one, the ends almost touching his shoulders. His face was also harder, his eyes older. He'd also gotten wider across in the shoulders. But his fashion style hadn't changed a bit.

Sarah's surprise turned into pleasure. "Sam!" she greeted, handing her clipboard to Leslie and holding her arms out for a hug. "Oh, my God, you've changed."

He hugged her readily enough but only for a short moment before setting her back. "You haven't," he told her with a sad little smile.

"What brings you back to Maine?" she asked, tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear.

He shifted his weight, shoving his hands into his pockets. "Uh, could we talk somewhere more private?"

"Yes, of course," Sarah said quickly. She turned to her personal assistant. "I'll be in my office for the next hour. Don't call for me unless someone spontaneously catches fire."

"Yes, Miss Blake," Leslie replied dutifully, eying Sam nervously. To anyone who didn't know him, Sam's height and stature where incredibly intimidating. Sarah beckoned Sam to follow and led him through the activity.

"You have an office?" Sam asked as he followed her, eyes scanning the gallery as they passed.

"Dad retired two years ago, left everything to me," Sarah replied.

"Yeah? And how is that going?"

"Pretty good, for the most part. We've expanded our business into the entire continental USA and we do have one or two buyers from England."

"Sounds like you keep busy."

They reached Sarah's office and she ushered Sam in. Once she'd inherited the office, she'd ripped up the thick carpeting and torn down the dark wood paneling, turning it into something that more suited her tastes. "What about you?" she asked as she took a seat behind the glass-topped desk. Sam gave her an inquiring look while he took the other chair. "Do you keep busy?" she elaborated.

He gave a dry chuckle. "Yeah. You could say that."

Sarah frowned. "Is that why you're here? Your job?" Her eyes widened. "Oh, God, it's not another haunted picture, is it?"

"No, no, no," Sam assured her quickly. "No ghosts this time." He grimaced. "Wish it was, though. It'd probably be easier."

Sarah raised her eyebrows. "Well, what is it, Sam?" she asked.

He leaned forward the rest his elbows on his knees. "We have a slight...problem," he said delicately after a moments hesitation. "You see, there's a situation where..." he trailed off, chewing on his lower lip.

She smirked. "I seem to remember you having this problem before. Just out with it."

He shrugged. "We have reason to believe that within the next day or so, a demon is going to try to kill you."

Sarah stared at him. "You can't be serious," she blurted. His expression didn't change. "Oh God, you're serious." She pushed to her feet, going to stand by the window. She pressed a hand to her mouth. Sam remained where he was, letting the information sink in. "So," she said at length. "Not only are demons real, but there's one after me?"

"Yes," he replied simply.

Sarah turned to face him, crossing her arms over her chest. "Why me?" she asked in disbelief. "I mean, what have I ever done to get a _demon_ angry with me?"

"It's not anything you did," Sam told her seriously. "It actually doesn't have anything against you. It's after Dean and me. It's been going back to the people that we've helped before..." he trailed off, suddenly looking bone-achingly weary.

"How many people have you lost?" Sarah whispered.

His face hardened. "Enough. And it ends here." He got to his feet. "You need to come with me right now."

She smoothed her hair out of her face and took a step back. "Sam, I-I can't. I'm in the middle of—I have an event tonight. My dad is coming. If I'm not there he'll want to know why."

"Tell him you're sick," Sam said with another shrug.

Sarah leveled a look at him. "We're talking hundreds of thousands of dollars, Sam. If I'm too sick to make this event, I'd be in the hospital."

Sam huffed impatiently. "Sarah. This demon is going to kill you. Is an art event really worth your life?"

"Well, n-no," Sarah stammered. "But I have a potential client coming from Spain. If I can add him to my clientele, then I can branch out all throughout Europe. This is extremely important to me."

He rubbed a hand over his face. "Okay. Let me put this into perspective," he said. "We're not talking about some low-level black-eyes. When I say demon, I mean the most powerful evil entity currently walking the earth."

Her eyes widened. "Damn, Sam," she murmured. "Who'd you piss off?"

"The king of hell," he replied, entirely too glibly.

"I don't understand...are you talking about...Satan?" she asked, confused and alarmed.

"No," Sam replied. "Satan's been taken care of. It's Abaddon we're worried about now."

Sarah blinked at him. "Did...you _kill_ Satan?" she asked blankly.

"Not...exactly," he replied slowly.

She stared at him, waiting for him to assure her he was joking. Then he didn't and she realized, to her horror, that he was serious. She reached for her purse. "Okay. Okay. We'll just have to swing by my place for a few things and then we can go." She didn't bother asking where they were going.

Sam shook his head. "No, sorry. We can't do that. Once you walk out of this room, you are not allowed to go back to anywhere familiar. You'll have to trust me and do everything I say, no questions asked, you understand?"

Sarah nodded. "Yeah. Got it."

"All right. Now. I need you to tell your secretary that you are going to run a few errands and that you'll be back in time for the event. Leave the gallery and circle around to the alley out back. I'll meet you there." Sam waited until she nodded before crossing over to the window.

"What are you doing?" Sarah demanded. "We're on the second story!"

He paused and looked over his shoulder at her. "Yeah? And?"

She sighed and rubbed her eyes. "Never mind. Meet you outside."

After telling Leslie that she needed to pick up her dress from the dry cleaners, Sarah left the gallery, trying to act normal as she circled around the building to the alley Sam had indicated. He was waiting, just as he promised, standing next to the black muscle car Sarah remembered from five years ago. He opened the back door and ushered her in before climbing in after her.

Sarah settled into the back seat before turning to the driver. To her surprise, it wasn't Dean. It was a woman who appeared to be in her mid-thirties, with long, blonde hair and a hard expression. She looked over her shoulder at Sarah. "This her?" she asked.

"Yeah. Sarah, meet Mary. Mary, Sarah Blake," Sam introduced.

"Pleasure," Mary said tersely.

"Same," Sarah replied, not missing the fact that Sam had failed to give a last name.

Sam twisted to check out the back window. "Think we got off clean?"

"I sure hope so," Mary muttered.

Sarah said nothing and watched the buildings slide by. It quickly became apparent they were leaving the city. "Would it be a waste of time to ask where we're going?"

"Yeah, pretty much," Sam said. "Hey, I need your cell phone."

Sarah dug around in her purse. "Here. What do you need it..." she trailed off when Sam grabbed it out of her hand, rolled down the window, and tossed it out of the car. "Okay," she said, putting her purse back down.

They'd almost reached the edge of town before Mary pulled the car into side road and slowed down. Sam nudged Sarah toward the door. "We're getting out here." Mary stopped the car only long enough for Sam and Sarah to get out before driving away.

"Over there," Sam said, pointing toward the blue utility van parked against a brick wall. It was the kind without windows, like electricians and kidnappers used. As they approached it, the side door slid open. Sam gestured for Sarah to get in first. She sighed and climbed into the dim interior. Sam checked their surroundings before folding his lanky frame in after her.

There were no rear seats in the van, so Sarah had to settle on the floor. The walls of the van were lined with racks of gun. Several bags of salt, gallon jugs of water, and duffel bags were thrown into the corner.

Dean turned around from the driver's seat. "Heya, Sarah," he greeted with a crooked smile. "How you've been?"

"Pretty good," she replied, reaching out to steady herself against the wall as Dean pulled out onto the road. "You?"

"Oh, you know, hanging in there," Dean said casually. Sam tried to find a comfortable seat and gave up. Someone moved behind Sarah and she spun around to see what appeared to be a young boy crouched in the back of the van.

"Uh, Sam?" Sarah asked. "Since when does your job have a day care?"

"Huh?" Sam's head whipped around, his expression confused. Sarah pointed towards the kid. "Oh, uh, no. That's Sophia. She's an angel." He went back to digging in one of the duffel bags. Sarah stared at the kid. After a moment, the little girl raised a hand and waved awkwardly. Sarah blinked and looked away. Sam huffed impatiently and shoved the duffel away from him.

"Dean, did you pack the hex bags?" he demanded.

Dean looked over his shoulder. "Yeah, I put them next to the goofer dust."

"Well, they're not here," Sam said pointedly.

Sophia leaned forward and tapped Sam's arm. He looked down at her. She held up two or three cloth bags. "Oh," Sam said, taking them from her. "Thanks." Sam turned back to Sarah and handed one of them to her. "Keep this with you at all times. This should keep you off demon radar."

Sarah took it wordlessly. Sam then handed her a silver pendant on a leather cord. "Anti-possession charm. Don't take it off," he instructed.

"Okay." Sarah slipped it over her head.

"One last thing," Sam said, and gave her a cellphone. "I've enabled the GPS on this. We'll be able to track you at all times. I've also programed our numbers into it."

Sarah looked down at the item in her hand. "Wow. You really weren't kidding."

Sam didn't look amused. "I told you, we've lost enough people."

She lost all trace of humor at that.

The drove for several hours, taking back roads and doubling back and weaving their way through the countryside. They rolled into a tiny town around dinnertime and pulled into a small motel. Sophia opened the door and hopped out, standing sentry beside the car. Sarah moved to follow when Sam grabbed her arm.

"Wait until Sophia says it's safe," he warned. Sarah turned to look at the child.

"You're serious about her being an angel?" she asked sceptically.

Sophia turned and gave Sarah a disturbingly knowing smirk. Then she met Sam's eye and nodded. Dean got out of the van and Sarah saw him adjust a pistol in his waistband. Sarah exited the van, grabbing her purse as she went.

"Am I going to need an overnight bag?" she asked.

Sam's attention wasn't on her, but on the motel parking lot, eyes continually scanning. "We got you covered," he assured her. "Let's go."

Sam and Dean flanked her as they approached the room, Sophia padding along behind. Sarah figured this is what the president felt like after an assassination attempt. Even though she felt like Sam and Dean were overreacting, she trusted them to know their job. If they said she was in danger, she probably was.

As they reached the motel room door, it swung open to reveal a young woman barely into her twenties, wearing a black blouse over a gray t-shirt and worn-out jeans. Her skin was pale enough to make Sarah doubt she ever spent time in the sun. Even her eyes were a light, silver-gray. In fact, the only real color about her was the bright red and yellow cap she wore slightly crooked on her head.

"You were supposed to be here ten minutes ago," she greeted, annoyed.

"We ran into traffic," Dean retorted, brushing past the woman into the room. She rolled her eyes and stepped out of the way to let the others in, closing the door after them. "You get everything done in here?" Dean asked.

"Nothing with even the faintest whiff of sulfur could get in here," the woman replied, setting her hands on her hips.

Sam inspected a crudely-drawn symbol on the wall. Now that Sarah was looking, she realized the room was covered in symbols. There was chalk on the ceiling and salt lines in front of every window as well as the door.

"I told you not to use any blood wards," Sam said with a frown.

"You wanted heavy duty," the woman reminded him. "That means blood wards." She scratched at her arm, hiking the sleeve up enough to reveal the edge of a white bandage.

Sarah stood in the middle of the room, clutching her purse to her chest and feeling very out of her depth. "Um," she said, trying to think of the right way to word her question, when the woman abruptly turned to stare at her.

"Are you all right?" she asked, sounding genuinely concerned. "You look a little shell-shocked."

Sarah laughed nervously. "Yeah. That would describe it nicely."

"I'm Mallory," the woman said, extending her hand. "I'm going to be your bodyguard."

Sarah took her hand cautiously, looking the woman up and down. Standing an inch shorter than Sarah and a good twenty pounds lighter, Mallory didn't look like she was up for guarding anyone. "Okay," was all Sarah said.

Mallory nodded, business-like, and turned to Dean. "Mary get off okay?"

"Yeah. She's gonna head down to Baltimore to give that detective a head's up. She's the next on the list if things go south here."

Mallory crossed her arms. "You called Ellen and Jo, right? Because technically you did save Jo from H. H. Holmes, remember?"

"Yeah, yeah," Dean replied impatiently. He continued his inspection of the motel room.

"And?" Mallory prompted.

"And Ellen ripped me a new one," Dean continued unhappily. "In between freaking out over how stupid we are."

"Yeah, we probably should have warned them about what we were planning with that whole thing," Sam added, coming out from the bathroom. "The window back there is salted but it's unlocked."

Mallory nodded. "I know. I figured we'd need an escape route if the worst came to worst."

"Yeah, okay." Sam looked around once more. "You got everything under control?"

"We're fine, Sam," Mallory said, sounding exasperated. "Go."

"Wait, you're leaving?" Sarah asked, alarmed.

"Don't worry, Sarah," Sam assured her. "Trust me, Mal and Sophia are going to take good care of you. Dean and I are gonna kill whatever Abaddon sends after you, and then you can go home. All right?"

"O-okay," Sarah said hesitantly. "Just, um, be careful?"

"Will do," Sam nodded. He turned to Mallory. "Don't take any chances," he ordered her. "I can't believe you talked me into letting you come."

She raised an eyebrow challengingly. "Like you could have made me stay," she told him.

"Good point," he conceded. Bending forward, he kissed her swiftly on the mouth. "No chances," he said again, and then headed for the door, where Dean was already waiting. After the door swung shut behind them, Mallory turned to Sarah.

"You hungry?"

XxxXxxX

Mallory had Sarah Blake sized up almost as soon as the older woman stepped through the motel room door. She looked nervous, out of place, and definitely way in over her head. Mal knew exactly how she felt and was startled by the sudden protectiveness she felt for her.

"You hungry?" she asked after Sam and Dean left. She hooked her thumb over her shoulder toward the kitchenette. "We don't have anything hot, but there's stuff for sandwiches."

"That's fine," Sarah said with a smile that was only slightly strained. Mal nodded.

Sophia had taken up post by the door, sitting in a chair and swinging her feet idly. Mal made a mental note to get the angel some other clothes. She looked like a boy in Sam's old clothes. After Mal brought three sandwiches to the table, Sophia pulled her chair over to join them. Unlike other angels of Mallory's acquaintance, Sophia had had no problem picking up human habits like eating and sleeping.

Sarah stared at her sandwich for a few moments before looking up at Mal. "Could you please tell me what is really going on?" she asked.

Mallory finished chewing and put her own sandwich down. "How much did Sam tell you?"

"Just that a demon's pissed at him and Dean and is now going after people they've helped in the past," Sarah replied.

"Well, that's pretty much it," Mal said with a shrug. "The less you know, the safer you'll be."

Sarah's face abruptly hardened. "No. You know what, Sam tried that bullcrap with me the first time. It didn't work then and it sure as hell won't work now. If my life is in danger, then I think I deserve to know the truth."

Mal was torn between feeling admiration for Sarah's sudden show of spirit and annoyance. "Your life isn't the only one on the line here," she told Sarah.

"I realize that," Sarah began. "Sam told me that—"

"I'm pregnant," Mal interrupted bluntly. Sarah abruptly stopped talking, staring at Mal. "It's Sam's," Mal went on. "Abaddon wants the baby." She felt a twinge of guilt for the half-lie, but pushed it away with disturbing ease.

Sarah blinked a few times. "Why?" she finally asked.

Mal shrugged. "Revenge. Control over the Winchester bloodline. Lots of reasons. None of them good. All of this is a ploy to draw us out, make us vulnerable."

Sarah was silent for a long time. "Congratulations," she finally said. "You and Sam must be very excited."

"Surprised, more like," Mal replied with a wry smirk.

"I'm sure, with your lifestyle," Sarah stopped herself, clearly re-thinking her words, then asked, "How long have you been doing...this sort of thing?" She waved her hand vaguely.

"Four and a half months," Mal said. "Feels like longer."

"Four months," Sarah echoed, surprised. Then her eyes widened. "Oh, my God. You're Mallory Graves."

Mal winced. "Yeah," she admitted reluctantly. "Yeah, I am."

"You disappeared without a trace," Sarah continued. "But they said a man had kidnapped you? He was found dead."

Mal scratched the back of her head through the knitted cap. "Long story."

Sarah scoffed. "I don't think so. You were all over the news for weeks. You're not just gonna leave me with that."

Mal groaned. "Seriously? I gotta go through the whole story?" she complained.

Sarah nodded. "I want to hear it."

The younger woman buried her face in her hands and sighed loudly. "Fine," she mumbled resignedly. She lowered her hands. "It was an angel."

"An angel," Sarah repeated dubiously. She darted a sidelong look at Sophia, who was happily munching on Sarah's sandwich.

"Not that one," Mal said dryly.

"Um, yeah, about that," Sarah said hesitantly. "No offense, but you're not exactly what I had in mind when I thought about angels."

Sophia only smiled beatifically, perfectly content, as usual, for someone else to do the talking.

"That's because she's in a vessel at the moment," Mal explained, getting up and heading back to the kitchenette. She opened the mini fridge, retrieved a beer bottle, and returned to the table, offering it to Sarah. "Trust me, you're gonna want it," she said at Sarah's look. Sarah took the beer and opened it.

"A vessel?" she echoed.

"An angel's true form is massive," Mal told her. "And impossible for humans, most humans, to look at. So while they're on earth, they stuff themselves into a human body to make it easier on us. It's totally consensual. They don't take unwilling hosts." She leaned back in her chair. "Sophia's vessel was a patient at St. Jude's Children's Hospital."

Sarah eyed the child-sized angel again. "And what does this have to do about your disappearance?" she asked.

"I'm a vessel, too," Mal said. "Only my angel's name was Amitiel. When that man had me, she came to me. Said she'd rescue me in exchange for the use of my body. She was the one who killed him."

"So the last four months, you've had an angel inside you?" Sarah asked, still looking unconvinced.

"Off and on, yeah," Mal said with a nod.

"What happened?"

"She died," Mal replied, and again the half-lie tasted bitter in her mouth.

Sarah looked surprised. "But...how? If she was an angel, then..?"

"Angels die," Mal said bluntly. "And that's basically my story. Ami ran around with Sam and Dean for four months, helping them out. After she died, well, I stuck around." She gave Sarah a level look. "You don't believe me."

Sarah shrugged. "It's a lot to ask a person. I mean, it's a big step to go from ghosts to angels and demons."

Mal laughed. "Yeah. Know exactly how you feel. Except I didn't have the advantage of knowing about ghosts when I was first contacted by an angel."

Sophia finished Sarah's sandwich and started eying Mal's. Mal slid it over without a word. Sophia beamed again and began eating. For a little thing, she could really pack the food away. Sarah tried to run her fingers through her hair, remembered it was in a bun, and dropped her hand.

"Did you ever want to go home?" Sarah asked quietly.

Mal looked away suddenly. "No," she said, equally softly. "No, I never did."

Sarah took a long drink from her beer. Mal gave her another look. "You okay?" she asked. Sarah winced.

"Ask me again tomorrow when this whole thing is over."

Mal laughed again. "Okay I'll do that."

Then the lights overhead flickered. Mal and Sophia were on their feet in a flash, angel-sword in Mal's hand. Sarah rose awkwardly, shoving her chair back. "What is it?" she demanded.

Mal titled her head. Despite what she'd told Sam, her hold on Amitiel's Grace was tenuous at best, and she couldn't get a clear reading from the angel senses. "I don't know," she said slowly. "But something's here."

"I thought you said no demon could get in here," Sarah whispered.

Mal heard a whisper of movement behind her and slowly turned. A man wearing a dark suit stood in the kitchenette, a dark smirk twisting his face. "That's...not a demon," Mal replied, her heart sinking.


	12. Chapter 12

People were beginning to arrive at the gallery. Sam and Dean, disguised as staff in brand new suits, mingled among the gallery's clients. They both had EMF detectors hidden in their coats, connected to headphones discretely placed in one ear. Since the gala was where Sarah was supposed to be, they figured that's where the demons would attack. Sam was just hoping they could take care of it without attracting too much attention.

He scanned one group of guests conversing over champagne. The EMF detector remained quiet. He huffed in frustration and moved on. The night wore on and still he found nothing. He met up with Dean behind the buffet. To his relief, Dean had forgone the food in favor of the job.

"I got bumpkis," Dean complained, opening his coat to check that his EMF detector was working. "How about you?"

"Nothing," Sam replied. "Did we do something wrong? Do you think they figured out she isn't here?"

"We covered our asses so well _we_ wouldn't have been able to track us," Dean insisted. "There's no way they could have followed us."

"I'm going to call Mal and make sure everything's okay over there," Sam said. As he turned to head toward the exit, however, the EMF detector squealed in his ear. He ripped out the earbud with a wince and glanced over at Dean, who had done the same, rubbing his offended ear. Sam quickly scanned the people near them, eyes narrow.

"There," Dean said, pointing. The man he indicated was an oily-looking client in an expensive tuxedo, a dark-skinned and quite attractive woman hanging on his arm.

"You sure?" Sam asked sceptically.

"Yeah. My EMF reader was pointed right at him when it went off," Dean replied.

"All right. We should wait until we can get him alone," Sam cautioned. "We don't want anyone calling the police on us."

"Hey, you think they're still looking for us for Mal's kidnapping?" Dean asked idly, still watching their target.

"I don't know," Sam admitted. "I haven't hacked into the FBI in a while. I'm surprised they haven't made the connection yet. They had pretty good sketches of us."

"Yeah, but we're officially dead, remember?" Dean reminded him. "Maybe our files got sealed. Or better yet, flushed."

"Maybe," Sam replied doubtfully. He made a mental note to check as soon as he got the chance.

"There he goes," Dean said, instantly becoming alert. The man had broken off from his conversation partners and was heading off in the direction of the restrooms. Dean and Sam slipped, unnoticed, after him. They paused on either side of the restroom door, exchanged a glance, and then burst in. Their target was at the sink. They grabbed him and slammed him against the wall.

"How many of you are there?" Sam demanded, holding the Knife across the man's throat.

"What? What are you talking about?" the man babbled in terror, his eyes so wide they almost bulged out of his head. "I don't know what you mean. Please, please don't hurt me. I'll give you anything you want. Just take it."

"Uh, Sam?" Dean said. "I don't think this is our guy."

Sam grimaced. "Yeah, me either." He stepped back, taking the knife from the man's throat. He slumped forward with a sigh of relief, rubbing his neck. Sam exchanged a look with Dean. "So..." he said questioningly.

Realization dawned on Dean's face. "The chick," he said.

"Hello, boys."

They turned around slowly. The dark-skinned woman stood just inside the doorway, hands on her hips. She grinned hungrily, white teeth flashing between red lips. "Mmmm...this is just so perfect. I get you all to myself." She flicked her tongue out of her mouth. "And then I still get to find the little bitch and waste her. Looks like my day just got that much...tastier."

Sam glanced back at the man, who was staring at his former companion in confusion and horror. Sam sighed and smashed his elbow into the man's temple, knocking him out cold. Dean took a step forward, squaring off with the demon.

"Bring it, bitch," he challenged.

The demon laughed and flung out a hand. Dean dove out of the way but still caught the edge of the blast, flinging him off his feet. He hit the tile floor and rolled back to his feet. Sam used the demon's moment of distraction to sidle up beside her and strike out with the knife. She whirled around and caught his arm as it descended. Her irises faded to white, leaving only her shrunken pupils behind.

"Goodbye, Sam Winchester," she hissed, and held up her other hand.

White light and heat washed over Sam without harming him. When his vision cleared, the demon assassin was staring at him in shock. "Yeah," Sam said with a smirk. "That doesn't work on me." He punched her in the face, driving her back a step and forcing her to release her hold on his arm. Dean hit her from the side in a perfect linebacker's tackle, taking her to the floor.

"Sam!" Dean yelled. "Anytime now!"

Sam lunged forward, dropping to his knees and sliding into place next to Dean. The demon shrieked and clawed at Dean, but he held her down just long enough for Sam to plunge the Knife into her heart. He yanked the blade out before she even stopped glowing and sat back, panting slightly. Black spots were still dancing across his vision from the demon-blast.

"You all right?" Dean demanded.

"Yeah, fine," Sam assured him. "Guess I'm still immune to that."

"Hell of a way to figure that out," Dean groused, getting to his feet and offering Sam a hand up. "Do me a favor and don't do that again."

"Like I can control when I get attacked by demons," Sam retorted. He grabbed a towel from the counter and scrubbed the Knife clean. "You think she was the only one?" he asked.

"We should do another sweep just to make sure," Dean decided.

"Probably a good idea," Sam agreed.

They locked the bathroom as they left to ensure no one would stumble upon the demon's corpse or the unfortunate bystander's unconscious body. The EMF detectors remained silent as they worked their way around the gallery one last time. They met again by the back door.

"You want to sweep the outside?" Sam asked, adjusting the settings on his detector.

"Can't hurt," Dean said with a shrug.

Sam pushed the door open and felt his phone vibrate in his pocket. He dug it out to see the number he'd given Sarah scrolling across the screen. He ducked outside and held his phone up to his ear. "Hello?"

"_Hey, Sam? We—uh, we've got a slight problem."_

XxxXxxX

For a long moment, no one moved, not the three females nor the man standing across the motel room from them. "If he's not a demon, what is he?" Sarah hissed at Mallory.

"An angel," she replied grimly.

Now Sarah was completely lost. "And that's a bad thing?"

"In this case, yes," Mallory said.

The angel continued to smirk. A sword slid down his sleeve into his hand, one exactly like the one Mallory was holding. "Aren't you going to run, little girls?" he taunted.

"Good idea," Mallory said. "RUN!"

Sophia spun around and flung both hands toward the door. It swung open with a crash. The little girl grabbed Sarah's hand and bolted, dragging the taller woman along with surprising strength. Sarah glanced over her shoulder. Mallory was right behind them as they hit the parking lot and raced across it. The angel appeared in the open doorway of their motel room and laughed.

Sophia didn't slow down, pulling Sarah along with her. Sarah briefly wondered the wisdom of fleeing from an _angel_ on foot, but Mallory and Sophia seemed to think it was a viable plan. They sprinted across the street, behind the tiny diner, and into the small Maine town they'd been hiding in. Sarah's lungs were beginning to burn but Sophia didn't release her hold on her.

They passed through a narrow alleyway between two buildings and Sophia abruptly came to a halt. Mallory skidded to a stop beside them and Sarah noticed, as she bent forward to catch her breath, that the other young woman was barely breathing heavy.

"Sophia, can you keep him off our backs for, like, one minute?" Mallory demanded.

Sophia nodded and made a sharp gesture that seemed to demand haste. Mallory nodded and rolled up her sleeve. There was already a white bandage circling her left forearm, and the girl slashed her silver sword down on her skin underneath it. Blood welled up from the wound and trickled over her arm, dripping onto the ground.

"What are you doing?" Sarah demanded between gasps. She could see the wound was deep, deep enough to need stitches. Mallory ignored her and twisted her hand, making the sword vanish. She dabbed her first two fingers against the wound in her arm and began drawing on the concrete wall beside them, wide sweeps and an unfamiliar symbol. The whole time, her arm continued to bleed at an alarming rate.

"Mallory, you're going to need medical attention," Sarah tried to protest, but no one was listening to her. Mallory continued to draw in her own blood, her face tight with pain. Finally she stopped and stepped back to examine her work.

"Did I get it right?" she asked Sophia. The little girl raked her eyes over the symbol and nodded once.

"Oh good," Mallory said weakly, just as her knees buckled.

"Dammit," Sarah spat, lunging forward to catch her before she hit the ground. Mallory felt entirely too light in Sarah's arms, and underneath her clothing she was all bones. "I told you," she said irately. Mallory had her right hand clamped over the wound.

"It'll close in a few minutes," Mallory said between clenched teeth. "I've just done too many blood wards today, that's all."

"Oh, that's all," Sarah said sarcastically.

Sophia, who'd gone to one knee to check on Mallory, shot to her feet, staring at something behind Sarah. She twisted to see what it was without letting go of Mallory. The male angel was back, standing at the mouth of the alley.

"This is as far as you got?" he asked, striding forward. "It is almost as if you _want_ to be found."

"You're from Raphael, aren't you?" Mallory growled, glaring at the angel.

"I am," he replied, coming to a halt not ten feet from them. "And I know all about you. The Blind Guardian. And now...the Abomination. Aberration. _Freak_." He smiled and straightened his tie with his free hand. "Oh yes, and the Archive. You should have thought twice before choosing to support the traitor, my dear," he said to Sophia. His eyes finally landed on Sarah. "And you...I don't care who you are. You can run along now, if you like."

Sarah didn't move from where she crouched on the asphalt, supporting Mallory. "Yeah, well you can go to hell," she spat at him.

He sighed and shrugged his shoulders. "Your choice." He stepped forward again. Sophia took a step backwards as if recoiling in fear, and then reached up to slap her hand squarely in the middle of the symbol Mallory had drawn.

The man cried out, raising his arms as he was consumed by a flash of light. In Sarah's arms, Mallory convulsed once and then went limp. When the light faded, Sarah looked around. The male angel was gone, leaving nothing behind. The bloody symbol was glowing faintly around the edges and Sophia stepped away from the wall. Sarah looked down.

Mallory was unconscious, her grip on her injury slack. There was blood smeared all over her hands and arm, but when Sarah checked, the wound itself had indeed clotted, the bleeding stopped. "What the hell?" Sarah whispered. She'd never heard of anyone healing this quickly before. She shook Mallory gently. "Mallory? Mallory? Hey, can you hear me?"

Sophia knelt beside them again, reaching over to place two fingers against Mallory's forehead. Her brow wrinkled with concentration. Then her expression darkened. She rocked back and closed her eyes for a long moment, lips moving soundlessly.

"Is she going to be okay?" Sarah asked urgently. Sophia opened her eyes, looked down at Mallory and then up at Sarah, and shrugged helplessly. "Oh, great," Sarah muttered.

There was a clatter from the other end of the alley. Sarah's head shot up. A man and a woman were walking towards them, their eyes solid black. "Let me guess," Sarah said resignedly. "_Those_ are demons."

Sophia sighed loudly and nodded.

"Well, screw this," Sarah snarled. She got to her feet awkwardly, lifting Mallory in her arms. "Can we make it back to the motel?" she demanded of Sophia.

The little girl shook her head, but then her eyes lit up. She bounded back to the wall and ripped a steel pipe free with inhuman strength. Water sprayed into the air. Sophia twisted the pipe to face the demons and stuck her hand in the flow. Sarah wasn't sure, but for a moment it looked as if the water gleamed in the darkness. Then Sophia backed away. The demons had paused, unsure of the angel's intentions, but seeing that she made no aggressive moves, advanced again, baring their teeth in eagerness. The first one got close enough for drops of water to fall on her skin. She recoiled with a hiss of pain, steam rising from her exposed skin.

Sophia began to walk backwards, beckoning Sarah to follow her. They retreated from the alley, never taking their eyes from the demons. Once they left the alley, Sophia turned and bolted down the street back towards the motel room. Sarah tried to follow but Mallory was a dead weight in her arms. Sophia had to slow down to match Sarah's pace, sending glances over her shoulder.

Sophia suddenly pushed Sarah hard to the side, sending her toppling to the pavement. She did her best to shield Mallory from further injury but only managed to scrape both knees and her arm. A gunshot cracked out in the night air, and the wall near where Sarah had been running exploded into dust. Sophia helped Sarah back to her feet and pick Mallory back up, guiding her urgently off the street. They were in front of a tiny grocery store that had closed shop for the night. Sophia ran up to the door, grabbed the handle, and pulled. There was a click, and then the door swung open.

Sarah hurried in at the little angel's silent instructions. Sophia closed and relocked the door before disappearing between the shelves. She returned a moment later with an armful of salt canisters. Sarah watched as the angel poured lines of salt in front of the door. Then Sophia shoved two canisters into Sarah's hands and gestured sharply. Sarah went in search of any conceivable entrance to pour salt in front of. When she returned, Sophia had dragged Mallory back from the door and was cradling the young woman's head in her lap. She'd removed the brightly-colored cap to reveal that Mallory's head was shaved down to almost nothing. Sophia rested her fingertips against Mallory's temples, her eyes closed in concentration.

Sarah crouched next to the other two. "What do you want me to do now?" It seemed odd to her, asking that of a child, but Sophia seemed to know what she was doing, and although Sarah wasn't sure she was ready to accept that the little girl was an angel, it was enough. Sophia lifted one hand and pointed at Sarah's pocket without opening her eyes. Sarah put her hand on the indicated pocket and felt the cell phone Sam had given her. "Right," she said, feeling stupid. She found Sam's number in the contacts list and waited for him to pick up.

"_Hello?"_

"Hey, Sam? We—uh, we've got a slight problem," Sarah said.

"_What's going on?"_ he demanded.

"Well, first it was the angel who tried to kill us but Sophia and Mallory did something that sent him away only now Mallory's unconscious and we have two demons after us. We can't get back to the hotel room so we're in a corner store down the street and I think you should probably get back here as soon as she can." Sarah gave the whole report without taking a breath.

There was a moment of silence, and then Sam asked, _"Can you stay where you are? Ask Sophia if you can stay where you are."_

Sarah lifted the phone from her ear. "Can we stay put?" she asked Sophia.

The little girl opened her eyes and looked over at Sarah. She nodded once, indicated a small amount, and then shook her head. Sarah returned the cell phone to her ear.

"I think she's trying to say that we can, but not for long. Does she ever talk?"

"_Not to my knowledge,"_ Sam replied shortly. _"We're on our way. Call me if anything changes."_

"Okay," Sarah said, and hung up. "Sam and Dean are on their way," she told Sophia.

The girl nodded and looked down at Mallory. There was a crash against the front door, the glass cracking, and a snarling sound that sent shivers down Sarah's spine. Mallory woke up with a flinch.

"Hellhounds!" she gasped, flailing free of Sophia's lap.

"Hellhounds?" Sarah echoed in disbelief. "How can this get any worse?"

Mallory shot her a look. "Don't say that." She looked around and the blood drained from her face. Sarah leaned forward.

"Mallory? What is it?"

"The last time I was in a store with hellhounds outside, I was bleeding to death," the other woman replied in a whisper.

The front door cracked further, the snarling turning into savage barks. Mallory flinched hard, a whimper escaping from her thinned lips. The barking outside continued. Sophia huddled against Mallory, her dark brown eyes wide. Sarah saw the abject fear on their faces and felt the cold fingers of terror begin to spread through her own body.

The barking abruptly turned to a pained yelp and then there was silence. The three females, huddled against the desk, hardly dared to breathe. The door unlocked with a click and swung open. Footsteps crunched on salt and broken glass. Mallory tried to rise to her feet and failed, but she still made the silver sword appear in her hand. Sarah wondered how she was doing that, and decided it wasn't important at the moment.

A man stepped around the shelves into view. He wasn't the male demon that had been chasing him, nor was he the angel who had driven them from the motel. He was tall and dressed all in black, from his jeans to his knee-length coat. His hair was blonde and disheveled. Piercing blue eyes shone from a gaunt face. He came to a stop fifteen or so feet away from the three females and crouched to get on eye level with them.

"Don't be afraid," he said in a soft, English accent. "I won't hurt you. My name is Stephen. Castiel sent me."

Mallory turned to look questioningly at Sophia, but the little girl only shrugged. Mallory turned back to the man. "How do we know that?" she demanded.

"You should be able to tell," Stephen told her. "You carry the Grace of the angel of truth."

Sarah twisted to stare at Mallory, but she looked as confused as Sarah felt. "I can't—I can't do that," Mallory protested. "I don't know how."

"Try," Stephen encouraged. "I'll wait."

Mallory frowned, brow furrowing. It may have just been a trick of the light, but it seemed as if her eyes darkened from pale silver to storm gray, just for an instant before returning to normal. "You're telling the truth," she said, sounding shocked.

Stephen smiled faintly. "I'm sorry that I could not come sooner, but I was pulled from the battlefield to aid you."

"Yeah, no problem," Mallory panted.

"We can trust him?" Sarah whispered.

"Pretty sure," Mallory whispered back.

Stephen frowned, concern in his eyes. "You are weak and injured. Please, may I assist you?"

"Uh...okay," Mallory said slowly.

Stephen moved towards them, never getting to his feet, perhaps to keep from looming over the girls and looking threatening. He took Mallory's left arm in one hand and hovered the other over her chest. "The banishing spell affected the Grace you carry," he told Mallory.

"That will be good to know in the future," Mallory replied. She sat up, the blood and color restored to her face. Sarah looked down. The blood on Mallory's hands and arm had completely vanished, along with any sign of the wound. Sarah took a slow, deep breath. A beer was starting to get really attractive.

"Let me escort you back to your motel room," Stephen requested, still holding onto Mallory's hand. She nodded and he rose, helping Mallory to her feet as he did. Mallory grabbed her cap as she left the floor, shoving it back onto her head. Sarah stood as well, pulling Sophia up. For a moment there was an awkward shuffle as Stephen tried to usher them forward but Mallory stood her ground, silently insisting that he go first. He finally conceded to her wishes and led them out of the corner store. On the sidewalk there were two puddles of bluish-black liquid, but no sign of the hellhounds.

Mallory was staring at the puddles with revulsion on her face. "Did you get the demons, too?" she asked, delicately stepping around the liquid.

"No, but I drove them off," Stephen replied. "I doubt they will be back."

The four of them made their way warily down the street, Mallory holding her sword at the ready the whole time. After a moment, Sophia moved up to walk next to Stephen. She reached up to tug at his sleeve, and he turned solicitously to give her his full attention. She made a gesture with both hands, an inquiring expression on her face.

"When I left him, Castiel was well and uninjured," he assured her.

"Who is Castiel?" Sarah whispered to Mallory. That was the second time she'd heard the name mentioned.

"A friend of ours," Mallory replied without taking her attention from the street around them. "One of the last two archangels."

Sarah missed a step and almost stumbled. "You're friends with an _archangel_?" she asked in disbelief.

"We knew him before he got promoted," Mallory said casually. "But yeah, he's like family."

Sarah shook her head. "Wait," she frowned. "Aren't there more than two archangels?"

"Gabriel's dead, Lucifer and Michael are trapped in hell, and Raphael is leading a war against Castiel," Mallory replied entirely too glibly.

Sarah nodded numbly. Yup, a beer would be great right about now.

A gunshot broke the silence, followed quickly by two more. Stephen stumbled forward a step, three holes appearing in the back of his coat. He whirled around, a sword shining in his hand. "Go!" he ordered the women. "I'll hold them off!"

Mallory, Sophia, and Sarah took off without looking back. The motel was just ahead; they could see the sign glowing against the dark sky. Just as they reached the parking lot, the male demon stepped out in front of them.

"Shit," Mallory spat, skidding to a halt. She immediately placed herself between the demon and her other two companions. "If you get a chance, make a break for it," she ordered in a low voice.

"What about you?" Sarah demanded, pulling Sophia behind her. Angel or not, she was a little girl, and Sarah's protective instincts more or less took over.

"I'll be okay," Mallory replied tightly.

"Such bravado," the demon mocked. "I'm shaking in my boots."

"Cut the crap, will you?" Mallory snapped back. "I've had enough bullshit tonight, thank you." She dropped into a ready position, switching her sword into a reverse grip.

The demon laughed. "I'm not here to fight you, Mallory," he said. "I'm not even here to kill Miss Blake."

Sarah saw Mallory hesitate, then an expression came over her face as if she was terrified of what the demon would say next. "Then why are you here?" Mallory asked hoarsely.

"For you, of course," the demon replied. "Abaddon is still willing to welcome you back, Mallory. He is a forgiving master. No harm will come to you or your child."

A snarl twisted Mallory's face. "Tell Abaddon to go fuck himself," she spat. "He's never coming near my baby."

"Then I'm very sorry to have to do this," the demon said, and he sounded genuinely apologetic. He threw back his head and a column of black smoke poured out of his mouth. It twisted through the air for a moment before descending toward the three girls. Mallory cried out a warning but it was too late. The smoke fell upon her and forced its way down her throat.

The silver sword clattered to the ground.

Sarah stared in horror, unsure of what was happening but knowing something was wrong. Sophia cringed against her side, little arms wrapping around her waist. She hugged the little angel tightly, still determined to protect her.

Mallory continued to stand there, back to them and shoulders slightly slumped. Then she slowly turned around. Her irises had been swallowed by darkness, eyes completely black. She stared, unblinking, at Sarah and Sophia, her head cocking to the side. A satisfied smile stretched her lips.

"See?" she said. "That wasn't so hard." She took a step forward and froze, a brief flicker of confusion passing over her face. "What?" she asked, cutting herself off. "No," she hissed angrily. "_No..._" She tried to take another step forward but an unseen force held her in place. She dropped to her knees, clawing at her chest. Then her back arched, head tilting back. A scream ripped free of her throat, and as she screamed, the smoke rushed from her mouth, disappearing into the night sky. Mallory collapsed to her hands and knees, panting and sobbing.

Sophia let go of Sarah and the two of them bolted forward. Sarah lifted Mallory from the ground, supporting her as she sat her back on her heels. Tears poured down the other woman's cheeks, her whole body shaking. She couldn't seem to catch her breath, taking short, shallow gasps of air.

"We need to get her inside," Sarah told Sophia. The little girl nodded and helped Sarah get Mallory to her feet and across the parking lot to the motel room, the door still standing open. As soon as they were inside, Sophia pulled the door shut and dug a bag of salt out of one of the bags, laying a line across the threshold. Sarah laid Mallory down on the nearest bed, sitting next to her.

"Are you okay?" she asked, laying her hand comfortingly on the younger girl's shoulder. Mallory shook her head, still crying. "What happened?" Sarah asked.

"Demon and angel can't exist," Mallory said between sobs, "In the same place. My angel Grace...forced it out."

Sarah wasn't sure exactly what Mallory was talking about, but it really didn't matter. The girl was in distress. "Is there anything I can do?" she offered.

Mallory suddenly reached out and latched onto Sarah's hand. "Stay with me," she begged. Sarah closed her other hand around Mallory's thin, cold one.

"I will," she promised.

XxxXxxX

When Mallory woke up, Sarah was gone. She sat up in a panic only to see Sam sitting in a chair across the room, watching her. "When did you get back?" Mal asked.

"About an hour ago," Sam replied tersely.

Mal looked down, picking at her shirt. "Where is everyone?"

"Dean took Sarah home and Stephen and Sophia left."

"So Sarah told you everything?" Mal still wouldn't meet Sam's gaze.

"Yeah, she did," he said, his voice cool. Mal winced and didn't reply. Sam eventually sighed. "Mal, this is exactly why I didn't want you to come," he said. "You could have been killed."

"If I hadn't been here, Sarah would be dead," Mal mumbled petulantly.

"No, because the only reason the angel and those demons were here was because of you," Sam snapped.

Mal's head came up. "So what are you going to do, Sam?" she demanded. "Lock me up for the next nine months? Oh, I know, you can use the panic room. Then I'll be completely safe."

"I'm not going to lock you up," Sam huffed impatiently. "I just want you safe."

"What is safe, Sam?" Mal asked. "Is safe really possible with our kind of lifestyle? The things you do every day, your job...nothing about you is _safe_."

"Then maybe you should leave," Sam replied quietly.

Mal stared at him, her mouth open. For a moment she couldn't find words. Then a tiny, "What?" slipped past her lips.

"You're right," Sam said, shaking his head. "As long as you stay with me, you'll be in danger. You'll be on the front lines. Maybe it'd be best if you were to go underground. Someplace Abaddon will never find you. As far from here as you can get."

Mal slowly got up from the bed, her legs still feeling weak. All the blood had drained from her face and her teeth were clenched so tightly that the muscles stood out along her jaw. She took several stilted steps across the room until she was standing in front of Sam. He looked up at her, a faint question in his eyes.

She slapped him across the face as hard as she could.

He recoiled away from her in shock, reaching up to touch the red mark on his cheek. He opened his mouth to demand an explanation but she beat him to it.

"I went to _hell_ for you," she growled dangerously. "I've been beaten, tortured, burned, and eviscerated _for you_. I gave up everything, my whole life, to be with you. Don't you _ever_ ask me to leave you." Tears suddenly flooded her eyes and she pressed her hand to her mouth to keep them in, fighting for control.

Sam stared at her, his expression slightly stunned. "Mal," he said softly, his hands fluttering as if he wasn't sure what to do with them. She reached forward to brush her fingertips along his bruised cheek.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, the tears overflowing. "I'm so sorry. I shouldn't have—"

He latched onto both of her wrists and pulled her down, claiming her mouth with his. She melted against him, wrapping her arms around his neck. She could taste salt on his lips but was almost instantly distracted when he swirled his tongue into her mouth. His hand crept under her shirt, and Mallory shivered at the touch of his calloused fingers along the skin of her back.

It would take Dean a few hours to get Sarah home and come back, right?


	13. Chapter 13

Mal fumbled with the buttons of her blouse before getting it off. Sam reached out and pulled her face back to meet his. His hand was still under her t-shirt, stroking across her back. Mal couldn't suppress a tiny moan when his mouth began to travel along her jaw, finding the sensitive spot just below her ear. Her hands tightened on the back of his shirt and she bared her throat for his attentions. His hand traveled from her back around to her stomach and she felt Sam freeze.

He pulled away from her and she whimpered in protest, but his expression was cloudy and troubled. With firm, unyielding motions, he stripped her t-shirt over her head, his hand again coming to rest on her stomach and the scars there.

Four parallel lines ran from the bottom of her ribcage on the right side to the top of her left hip, raking across her stomach. The scars were deep, and would have been deadly. Sam knew the injuries had occurred, but he'd never seen the scars before. He traced them lightly with his fingertips and the muscles beneath tightened in response. He continued to study them for a moment, Mal watching him warily. Then he closed his hand around Mal's right elbow, pulling her arm toward him. From elbow to shoulder, the skin of her arm was covered in patches of shiny, waxy burn scars, white and faded but still visible.

He ran his fingers over the scars, feeling the too-smooth skin and remembering the sight of the injury when it had been fresh. Mal tried to pull away. "Sam, no," she protested. He didn't release his hold on her.

"I want to see them," he told her gently. He took her wrists in his hands and turned her arms over, revealing the long, deep scars that ran lengthwise down each forearm. One of them was a gift from an old enemy. The other proof of Mallory's emotional turmoil during her blindness.

"I would never do that again," Mal whispered, flexing the fingers of her left hand. "I promise."

Sam raised her left arm and placed a kiss to the inside of her wrist. "I know," he replied. He kissed her mouth again, tender and lingering. He smoothed his fingers over her shorn hair. She shivered at the sensation.

Mal abruptly realized the unfairness in the ratio of exposed skin and broke off the kiss to tug at Sam's shirt. He helped her get it off, and then the t-shirt underneath. She ran her fingernails lightly down his chest to get a reaction and leaned forward to press a kiss to his breastbone, where the Mark rested, invisible, on his skin. She was aware of him within Amitiel's Grace, warm and alive and present, and for the first time since hell, Mal felt truly _safe._

XxxXxxX

The land was burning.

Castiel stood on the edge of the former battlefield and looked out over the destruction, a grim expression on his face. His followers had won the battle, but only barely. He'd lost many siblings, their shells of flesh being slowly consumed by the flames. The sky overhead was cloudy and dark, reflecting the turmoil in his Grace.

_Am I doing the right thing?_ he wondered. _Is this the right path?_ But as usual, his prayers where answered only with silence. Jimmy stirred within, withdrawn during the battle and only now emerging again. But the human merely looked out through the eyes he shared with the archangel and said nothing, offering neither criticism nor comfort.

"Looks like you're having a bad day," remarked a voice behind Castiel.

The angel's body stiffened but he didn't turn around. "What do you want, Crowley?" he growled dangerously. The demon stepped up to the angel's side. He held a lit cigarette in one hand and surveyed the ruined landscape.

"Blimey. Your lot can do a right amount of damage when they set their minds to it," Crowley commented.

Another growl rumbled in Castiel's chest. "My patience is not endless," he warned.

Crowley took a drag from his cigarette. "Right. Well, then, down to business. Word on the street, Abaddon is looking for something."

"Mallory and her child, yes I know," Castiel replied tightly. "If you have no other news—"

"No, not the bint," Crowley interrupted. "Something else. Something bigger."

Castiel took a deep, calming breath. "What?"

"A doorway," Crowley said, blowing out a stream of smoke. Castiel waited a beat for the demon to continue. When Crowley didn't, Castiel turned just enough to glare at him. "A doorway to Purgatory," Crowley added reluctantly.

"That's impossible," Castiel said flatly. "Purgatory is hidden even from us."

"Yeah, well, Abaddon's sure he can find it," Crowley said. "And trust me when I say it'll be bad news if he does. If he takes all those souls...he'll be more powerful than Lucifer ever was."

"Why are you telling me this?" Castiel demanded suspiciously.

"Look, Abaddon and I aren't exactly seeing eye-to-eye," Crowley admitted. "In fact, I'd be better off with him dead. So it looks like we're on the same side again."

"We are not, nor have we ever been, on the same side," Castiel corrected stiffly.

"Enemy of my enemy and all that," Crowley waved dismissively. "The point is, I'm giving you a head's up."

"And what do you gain out of this?" Castiel asked.

"Like I told those pets of yours," Crowley replied. "With Abaddon out of the way, the balance of power swings in my favor. I want him dead just as bad as you do."

"And I'm sure you have a suggestion as to how I should accomplish that."

"Find Purgatory first," Crowley said promptly, ignoring the sarcasm in Castiel's voice. The archangel had picked up entirely too many bad habits from Dean. "Get the souls. We can split them fifty-fifty. You can use them to waste Raphael. Everybody wins."

Castiel stared at Crowley for a moment. "Your arrogance is surprising, even for you," he finally said. "You would dare attempt to make a deal with an archangel?"

Crowley shrugged. "What can I say? King of the Crossroads."

Castiel's eyes narrowed, sapphire flames kindling in their depths. "Be grateful I don't smite you where you stand," he rumbled, his true voice stretching the boundaries of his vessel's limitations. Crowley took a step backwards, dropping his cigarette.

"All right, mate. No one's getting violent here," he said placatingly. "You don't want to deal, I'll just leave." He turned to go. Castiel raised a hand, pinning the demon in place.

"Wait," he said. He gestured and Crowley slowly turned back to face the archangel.

"Something else I can do for you?" the demon asked hoarsely. For the first time there was the appropriate amount of fear in his eyes.

"Bobby Singer's soul," Castiel said. "Return it."

"Now that's between me and old Robert," Crowley tried to protest. Castiel clenched his hand into a fist and Crowley's words choked off.

"Return it," he ordered.

Crowley pressed his lips together but still closed his eyes and concentrated for a moment. "Done," he said unhappily. Castiel released him.

"Get out of my sight," the archangel hissed. Crowley vanished. Castiel fanned the air around him with his wings to get rid of the scent of sulfur. Why he didn't kill Crowley, he wasn't sure. The next time he crossed the demon, he would. There was no point in letting him remain alive.

Castiel felt his followers call for him. His moment of introspection was over. With a silent sigh, he spread his wings and returned to the war.

XxxXxxX

Sam was woken up by his cell phone. He mumbled unintelligibly and tried to bury his face further into the pillow, only for his nose to come into contact with short, prickly hair. He shifted his head to remove the irritant and began the slow, reluctant journey to awareness.

The sun was shining through the gap in the curtains, illuminating the motel room. Sam was lying in the bed furthest from the door, and he was spooning Mal. She was snuggled up against him as close as possible, her head resting on his left bicep. His right arm was draped over her waist, hand spread over her stomach. Sam realized that he hadn't felt her stir all night; if she'd had a nightmare, she hadn't woken up.

His phone went off again and he sighed before reaching across Mal to the nightstand. Dean's name was flashing on the screen. "What?" he greeted his brother bluntly.

"_I'm heading down the diner for breakfast in half an hour,"_ Dean replied, equally forward. _"Meet me there."_

Sam frowned. "Where are you?"

"_I took another room when I got back last night. Figured you and Mal would want some alone time."_

"Shut up," Sam growled at Dean's tone. His older brother laughed and hung up. Sam replaced the phone and laid back down. Mal hadn't woken during the entire exchange. He watched her sleep for several minutes, reluctant to wake her from what was probably the best rest she'd gotten since hell. He bent his head and kissed the side of her neck. She murmured and stirred, raising her shoulder. He kissed her again. This time her eyes fluttered open and she rolled back against him to look up blearily.

"Hm?" she asked, not fully awake.

"You want breakfast?"

"Mm," she replied, closing her eyes again. Sam kissed her mouth and she reached up to bury her fingers in his hair, protesting when he pulled away.

"You can have the shower first," he told her.

She opened her eyes again, more awake this time. Her sleepy smile quickly turned to horror. "Oh, my God."

He frowned. "What?"

"Your face." She touched his cheek. "I'm really, really sorry. I shouldn't have hit you."

Sam probed the bruise gingerly. "It's not a big deal."

"Yes it is," Mal insisted. "It was the wrong way to deal with the situation, Sam. I can't lash out just because I'm angry."

He chuckled. "Dean's done it plenty of times."

"Well, Dean's not the picture of emotional health," Mal retorted. She placed a light kiss on the bruise. "I'm sorry."

"All right, I forgive you," Sam said with a sigh. "Can we drop it now, please?"

"Fine," Mal agreed reluctantly. She stretched languidly. "You said something about breakfast?"

"Dean wants us to meet him a the diner in about half an hour."

Mallory colored bright red. "Uh, when did he get back?"

"Last night some time," Sam said, amused at her reaction. "He took a different room."

She buried her face in her hands. "Oh, God."

He pried her hands away and kissed her. "Go take a shower," he ordered. "I'm hungry."

She wriggled out from underneath him and rolled off the bed, grabbing her bag. "If he says anything, I'll probably hurt him."

He laughed. "He'll deserve it."

They were out the door twenty-eight minutes later, Mallory with her cap firmly in place. She'd gotten quite attached to it over the past few days. The blue van was parked in the motel lot. As the passed it, Mal asked, "Did Stephen say anything about...you know? If there was any more threat from Abaddon to the other people you'd helped?"

"He said we shouldn't have to worry about it anymore," Sam replied. "Abaddon's moved on to other things by now."

Mal slipped her hand into Sam's. "That isn't comforting in the slightest."

"No, not really," Sam agreed. "You know I'm not going to let him near you, right?" He looked down at her. "No matter what it takes. You and the baby—_our_ baby. You're gonna be safe."

She tilted her head back to meet his gaze. "I know," she replied softly.

Dean was waiting in a window booth for them, a cup of coffee steaming in front of them. As Mallory slid in opposite of him, Dean smirked at her. "How'd you sleep?" he asked.

"Quite well, thank you," she replied primly.

Dean kept smirking. "I'm sure." He looked over at Sam, who was glaring threateningly at him. Dean wasn't fazed in the slightest. He slid a newspaper across the table towards Sam, who picked it up just as the waitress came to take their orders. Sam read the paper and allowed Mal to order for him, a fact that Dean did not fail to note. As soon as the waitress left, Sam put the newspaper back down.

"Werewolf, do you think?" he asked, tapping the article.

"Bodies found torn apart by wild animals, hearts missing," Dean said, leaning forward eagerly. "Sounds like classic werewolf to me."

Mal glanced over at the article as she stole Dean's coffee and added sugar. "It's not a werewolf," she said, tasting the coffee and reaching for the dish of creamers. Dean looked down at where his coffee had rested and back up. Mallory raised an eyebrow challengingly and Dean decided not to press the issue.

"Why do you say that?" Sam asked, turning to look at her.

"There wasn't a full moon on those nights," she replied, tasting the coffee again and nodding in satisfaction. Sam looked down at the newspaper and his forehead wrinkled as he thought.

"You knew that off the top of your head?"

Mallory blinked, coffee cup halfway to her lips. "Yes, actually," she said, sounding surprised. "Why would I know that?"

Sam and Dean just stared at her for a moment. "That's cool," Dean finally said. He turned to Sam. "It's in Vermont. We can be there by mid-afternoon."

"You're seriously gonna get us on a hunt?" Sam asked in disbelief. "Now?"

"Why not?" Dean demanded.

"Um, 'cause we kinda have a thing with Abaddon going on?" Sam reminded him.

"That Stephen dude said everything was quiet for now," Dean said with a dismissive wave. "Monsters don't stop just because there's a demon on the loose, Sam."

Sam hesitated and looked over at Mal. She held her hands up. "Don't worry about me," she said quickly. "I've learned my lesson. I'll be perfectly happy doing research and making phone calls from the motel room."

Sam thought for another minute. "Fine," he finally conceded. Their food arrived and Sam was amused to see that Mal had ordered french toast with applesauce. She dug in with more gusto than she'd shown for food since hell.

Dean watched her eat for a moment. "Looks like you worked up a good appetite," he remarked. Mallory looked up at him with a flat glare.

"I will put you through this window, Dean Winchester," she threatened, her voice expressionless. Dean only laughed at her and started eating.

"So this one's got a bit of spunk after all, does she?"

Everyone startled at the sound of the new voice, hands reaching instinctively for weapons but the motion aborted when they remembered their surroundings. Crowley folded the newspaper and put it back onto the table.

"The hell do you want, Crowley?" Dean growled, edging away from the demon who was suddenly sharing his bench.

"Just a chat," Crowley replied. "That too much to ask?"

"For you? Yes," Dean snapped back.

"I'm hurt, I really am," Crowley deadpanned.

"You still have Bobby's soul," Sam accused.

"What? That whiskey-soaked wreck?" Crowley said dismissively. "I had no use for it. I've already returned it."

"And we should believe you, why?" Dean challenged.

"He's telling the truth," Mallory said softly. Dean and Sam both turned to stare at her in time to see her eyes return from storm-dark to pale silver.

Crowley pointed at her. "See? Smart girl. Now. Are you gonna listen to what I have to say or not?"

"Say your piece and get out of here," Dean growled.

"I know what Abaddon's up to," Crowley replied bluntly.

The three humans blinked at him. "What?" they all said at the same time. Crowley raised an eyebrow and declined to repeat himself. Dean scowled.

"Well?" he demanded. "What's his next move?"

"He's looking for a way to increase his power," Crowley said, folding his hands on top of the newspaper and leaning forward. "And if he does, he's going to be even harder to kill than Lucifer was."

Sam felt a wash of ice water pour down his spine and Mallory stiffened next to him. He could almost taste her fear in the air. Crowley must have, too, because his eyes flicked in her direction but he thankfully made no comment.

"How?" Mal asked hoarsely.

"By opening Purgatory and absorbing the souls trapped there," Crowley replied instantly.

"Purgatory?" Dean echoed. "What the hell is that?"

"When you clodpoles kill all those nasty monsters, where do you think they go?" Crowley snapped. "Hell? That's for humans. No, they go to Purgatory. And Abaddon is looking for a way to rip it wide open. Now, I'm assuming that since you morons care enough about the state of humankind to rescue it from the Apocalypse, you'll want to do something about this."

Sam's eyes narrowed suspiciously. "And you're just handing this information over for free?" he asked sceptically.

Crowley sighed in frustration and rolled his eyes. "How many times do I have to say it? I want Abaddon dead. Do I have to spell it? I, w, a, n, t—"

"All right, all right," Dean interrupted. "So we need to stop Abaddon from opening Purgatory. How the hell do we do that?"

"Well, you could start by convincing your dear boyfriend to help you," Crowley retorted.

"Cas?" Dean frowned.

"You think he's telling you everything?" Crowley raised an eyebrow challengingly. "Please. He's an archangel now. Everyone knows how manipulative they are."

"You shut up," Dean growled, his glare turning murderous.

"They do say love is blind," Crowley said. "Just keep in mind...what exactly _do_ the Archives know?"

Dean, Sam, and Mal exchanged startled glances. When they turned back to Crowley to demand an explanation, the demon was gone. "Son of a bitch," Dean muttered, shoving his plate away from him. Mal stared at the empty spot Crowley had occupied, and then went back to eating. Dean sighed and rubbed his eyes.

"What d'you wanna do?" he asked Sam, dropping his hand. Sam shook his head.

"I dunno. Call Cas, make sure he knows. I can try—Ash showed me the program he used to track Yellow Eyes. I can try to set something up like that for Abaddon. I don't know how good it'll be until we set up a pattern for his appearances."

"We haven't actually had a sighting of him, have we?" Dean asked. "We don't even know what he looks like."

"Tall," Mal replied, setting down her fork. "Thin. Dark hair, dark eyes. Pinstriped gray suit with a," she tapped her chest. "A red rose in his lapel. And he still has that cane."

Sam turned to face her. "Have you seen him again?" he asked softly.

She shook her head. "Not since the hospital. But the nightmares..." she trailed off with a deep breath.

"I'll call Bobby," Dean said. "See if he can get someone up here to take care of whatever is chewing people up in Vermont."

"No," Mallory said unexpectedly. "We're here. We should take care of it. You," she corrected herself instantly. "You take care of it."

Dean gave Sam an inquiring look and Sam shrugged. "Okay," Dean agreed, getting to his feet. "Let's hit the road."

After they paid and on their way back to the motel, Dean dug his phone out and called Mary. "Mom," he greeted when she picked up. "Hey, we got wind of a hunt in Vermont. You want to head back up and meet us?"

"_I'm actually in Pennsylvania with Ellen and Jo,"_ she replied. _"Something's been grabbing children from their bedrooms."_

Dean frowned, both with worry for his mother and annoyance that he wasn't going to get the Impala back anytime soon. "All right," he said. "Be careful."

"_You, too. Oh, and Dean?"_

"Yeah?"

"_Keep an eye on Mal. She's not as good as she wants us to think she is."_

Dean slanted a glance at the girl in question. She was walking beside Sam, her eyes cloudy and distant. "Yeah," Dean replied. "Will do." He shoved his phone into his pocket and caught up with the other two. "Mom's helping Ellen and Jo out on a hunt of their own," he told them. "Pack your stuff and let's get going."

XxxXxxX

"...and that's everything he told us," Dean finished. "So...give me a call when you get this." He hung up his cell phone and stared at it for a moment, watching the name "Cas" blink on the screen. Then he shoved it into his pocket and turned back to Sam and Mal.

Mal dropped into the chair next to Dean and set John's journal onto the table, sliding it across to Dean. "Skinwalker," she announced. Dean examined his father's handwriting for a moment.

"You're sure?" he questioned.

Mal huffed. "Yes, I'm sure. All the information I've gotten from Ami has been accurate, and your dad's journal backs me up."

"Okay then," Dean said, closing the journal and getting to his feet. "Sammy, grab the silver bullets."

Sam tossed Dean his 1911. "Already done," he said. "All three victims were killed in the same block downtown. That's where we should start."

"All right." Dean tucked his pistol into the back of his waistband. "Mal, you know the drill."

She rolled her eyes. "Yes. Got it. Just go kill this thing before anyone else gets hurt."

Dean grinned at his brother. "You heard the lady, Sammy. Let's go."

Sam walked over to them and leaned down to kiss Mal. Dean hastily got to his feet and headed for the door. "C'mon Sam!" he called over his shoulder. "We don't got all day."

Sam shoved past him out of the motel room. "You're such a freak," he told his brother.

"_You're_ one to talk," Dean muttered back.

Sam just laughed.

Burlington was the biggest city in Vermont, and there was still activity downtown well after dark. Dean parked the van in an alley a few streets down from the skinwalker's hunting grounds and they set out to recon the area.

They scoured the side roads and alleyways, patrolled the streets and chatted casually to the cashier at the corner store. But they didn't come up with anything. Just as they were heading back to the van, however, they heard a loud crash from a dark side road, accompanied by an animal snarl. Sam and Dean had their pistols out and where racing down the road before they could even think about it, eyes scouring the gloom.

They rounded a dumpster to see a girl backed against a wall. She was holding an iron bar like a baseball bat and was being menaced by two big dogs of indeterminate breed. One of the dogs lunged forward, teeth flashing, and the girl swung the bar. It impacted the dog's head with enough force to crush its skull, but it only shook it off and tried to attack again.

Dean fired twice, both bullets slamming into the dog's ribcage. It landed on the ground with an agonized howl, thrashing as blood pooled underneath it. The other dog whirled away from the girl to face the brothers. Sam put a bullet straight into the dog's chest. It collapsed without a sound. It lay still for a moment before morphing into a human man, naked and unshaven.

"Yahtzee," Dean muttered, stalking closer. The injured dog continued to howl and flail helplessly. Dean stopped next to it and looked down at it for a moment before firing a third time, straight through the heart. It stopped thrashing. The next moment, another naked man lay on the asphalt.

Dean turned to look at the girl, who was still holding the iron bar, staring at Dean and Sam with a wary expression in her eyes. "It's okay," Dean told her, thumbing the safety on his pistol and tucking it out of sight. "You're safe now."

"Who are you?" she demanded, still not lowering the bar. She had some strength behind it, Dean had seen, and he suspected she was more than capable of bashing him senseless if she so desired.

"I'm Dean, that's my brother Sam," Dean introduced. "We're not going to hurt you."

She glanced down at the bodies in front of her, her expression unreadable. She didn't seem too disturbed by the sight of them. "Yeah," she finally said. "Okay." She lowered the bar. "Thanks."

"No problem," Dean replied. He turned to look at Sam. "I didn't think this one was going to be this easy."

The girl snorted. "If you think this is over, you're wrong," she said. Dean whipped his head back toward her. "There's eight of them in this pack," she continued. "They'll pick up your scent and they're gonna be pissed." She tossed the bar aside and wiped her hands on her denim skirt.

"You know about them?" Sam asked. "About the skinwalkers?"

"Yeah," the girl replied reluctantly. "I know about them."

"You wanna tell us how?" Dean pressed.

She gave him a look. "Not particularly. But I guess I don't have much of a choice, do I?"

"Nope," Dean replied.

She sighed. "You have a car?"

Dean gestured with his head. "Just down the street."

"Good. You can give me a ride home." She stepped away from the wall. "I'm Dani, by the way."

"Well, Dani," Dean said. "It's good to meet you."

When they stepped out onto the street, Dean got his first good look at Dani under the streetlight. She was older than he had first thought, probably nineteen or twenty. Her hair was brown where it wasn't blue and she was wearing orange tights under her short skirt. The handle of a knife peeked up from the top of her boots. She came to a dead stop at the sight of their van.

"You're kidding me," she said, eyebrows raised.

"It's not my favorite, either, trust me," Dean retorted.

"This is the part where you offer me some candy and tell me I'm a pretty little girl," Dani observed dryly.

Sam chuckled and shook his head. He turned to her and gave her his patented "I'm innocent you can trust me" look. "We just want to help you," he assured her. "We're not a threat to you, I promise."

"Oh, I'm pretty sure of that," Dani said, getting into the back of the van. She reached down to pull her knife free. "Try anything and I'll cut you."

Dean smirked. "I like this chick," he told Sam as he slid the side door shut.

"I heard that!" she called.

Dani guided them almost to the other side of town, an upscale neighborhood with refurbished townhouses. They stopped in front of a two-story brownstone surrounded by a cast-iron fence. Dani was out of the car first, typing in a code on the gate and pulling it open for them. When they reached the front porch, Dean noted the camera placed discretely over the door. He nudged Sam and nodded to it while Dani unlocked the door.

"Logan!" she called as she stepped into the entryway. "I'm home!" As soon as Dean and Sam stepped through the door, she swung it shut and locked it. There was a familiar sound of hard rubber against wood floor and a young man in a wheelchair appeared in the hallway.

"Dani?" he questioned, giving Dean and Sam uncertain looks. "Is everything all right?"

"Yeah, it's fine," she replied, stepping past the Winchester brothers. "We ran into a couple of Russell's dogs, though."

The young man's face tightened. "Oh. Crap."

"Yeah, that's what I said," Dani sighed. She looked over her shoulder. "Well? Are you going to come in?"

Sam was the first to step forward. "I'm Sam," he said, offering the young man his hand. "It's Logan, right?"

Logan smiled lopsidedly. "Yeah. Less Wolverine, more Professor X."

Sam chuckled and hooked his thumb over his shoulder at Dean. "This is my brother, Dean. We ran into Dani on the other side of town. Looked like she needed some help."

"Thanks," Logan said sincerely. "I appreciate that. Please, come in." He turned and lead them into the kitchen where Dani had pulled four bottles of beer from the refrigerator. She handed one to Logan as he joined her, leaving Sam and Dean to pick their own up off the table.

"So," Dean began. "Tell us about Russell."

Dani took a long drink from her beer. "He's a scum of the earth lowlife who likes perving on young girls," she said bitterly. She took a deep breath. "I grew up in Texas," she continued, a little calmer. "My family had a cattle farm. At calving time, we'd hire a few extra hands to help out. The year I was fifteen, we hired Russell. We had no idea what he was. He snuck into our house one night, killed my parents and younger brother, and tried to turn me. I thought...I thought if I ran far enough, I'd get away from him." She looked down at the beer in her hand. "I guess not."

Logan reached out to touch her hand. "It's okay. It's not a big deal. We can move again, find somewhere else."

She scowled. "Yeah," she muttered.

"No," Dean spoke up. Dani and Logan looked at him. "You don't have to run again," he told them. "Sam and me, we'll take care of Russell."

Dani looked suspicious. "Why would you do that?"

"It's kind of our job," Sam said dryly.

She didn't seem convinced. "You kill skinwalkers?"

"We kill all sorts of things," Dean replied. "You said there was eight in his pack. We've already got two down. I'd say that's a good start."

Logan gave them a considering look from behind his wire-rimmed glasses. "You're really willing to help us?" he asked.

"Yeah, we are," Sam assured him.

"All right," Logan nodded. "Let me show you what I've got on Russell." He rolled himself out of the kitchen into the living room, the other three following behind. Set against one wall was a bank of computers, a few of them displaying black-and-white footage of various points around the house.

"This is yours?" Sam asked, looking impressed.

"I built it myself," Logan said, the pride obvious in his voice.

"He's a genius," Dani piped up, perching on the arm of the sofa.

"I wouldn't say that," Logan said humbly, rolling into place in front of the trio of keyboards. He hit a few keys and the remaining screens lit up. "Here. I've spent most of the last two years doing my best to track Russell's movements to try to find a pattern. It's not easy, though. He really knows how to glide under the radar."

Sam leaned over to get a closer look. "Are those...police records?" he asked.

"Um...no?" Logan said quickly, exiting out of the screen.

Sam chuckled. "It's no big. Looks like you did a great job."

"Well, Russell's a creature of habit," Logan replied. "He'll roll into a town, find an abandoned building to hunker down in, and send his pack out to make drug deals to drum up some cash. There's usually a few bodies—he doesn't control them all that well—and then they split before the police catch on. He's only found us once before, in Chicago. I was pretty sure I'd covered our tracks."

"This isn't your fault, Logan," Dani said quickly. He gave her a quick smile.

"Yeah." He turned back to the computer screen. "Here's a list of all the buildings condemned by the city. I wouldn't bother with the ones at the edge of town; Russell likes to be in the middle of things."

"Any chance it'll be near where the people were killed?" Dean asked, scanning down the list.

Logan shook his head. "No. Russell's not stupid. He wouldn't let his pack make kills near where they were staying. Like I said, he's pretty good at avoiding attention." He printed the list and handed it to Dean.

"What's the security like on this place?" Sam asked, looking around.

Logan shrugged. "It's decent enough. The windows and doors are all reinforced and there's cameras all over the grounds. Why?"

"If Russell managed to find you here in Burlington, it's entirely likely that he can track you back to this house," Sam told him. "I just want to make sure that you two are safe while we find Russell."

"Oh, God," Dani whispered. "I didn't even think about that."

"He's right," Dean said. "You're gonna need someone to keep an eye on you while Sam and I take care of the skinwalkers." He turned to Sam. "Mal can stay with them."

An expression flitted across Sam's face too quickly for Dean to read. "Can I talk to you for a sec?" he asked. They retreated back into the kitchen. "We're not bringing Mal into this," Sam hissed at Dean.

"She'll just be babysitting them for a few hours," Dean told him.

"That's what she was supposed to do for Sarah and look how that turned out," Sam snapped.

Dean spread his arms. "What do you want to do, then, Sam? It's gonna take the both of us to clean out six skinwalkers. We don't have anyone else. Besides, it's not like we're dealing with angels and demons. Just a couple of rabid dogs. And you've seen Mal fight. She'll be fine."

"I promised she'd be safe," Sam replied, shaking his head. "I'm not putting her and the baby at risk."

"Sam. She's gonna sit here for a few hours making small talk with Dani and Logan," Dean said. "Nothing's going to happen."

"You can't know that for sure," Sam remained firm.

Dean huffed in frustration. "Look. This is a two-man job. So either Mal is going to stay here with them or you are and she's hunting with me. Your choice."

Sam glared at him for a moment. "You're a bastard, you know that?" he finally growled.

"Yeah, yeah," Dean muttered. "Sue me. You wait here. I'll pick her up." He headed for the front door.

"Dean!" Sam called. Dean paused but didn't turn around. "If anything happens to her," Sam continued. "I'm taking it out of your ass."

Dean pressed his lips together and kept walking. If anything happened to Mal and it was his fault, he'd probably do it himself.

XXXXX

A/N: As a present, here's an extra-long chapter. May whatever holiday you celebrate be blessed.


	14. Chapter 14

Mallory climbed out of the van and paused for a moment to survey the house. Dean circled around to stand next to her. "I'm not comfortable with this," she told him.

"Nothing is going to happen, I promise," Dean said for the fourth time. "I seriously doubt Russell followed us back here. You're just going to hang out with them to make them feel safe. Besides, I'd feel better if you weren't alone."

Mal shouldered her bag and scowled darkly. "All right, whatever," she muttered. The front gate had been left open for them, so they walked right up to the front door and knocked. A young woman about Mal's own age opened the door. This must be Dani. Mal blinked.

Dani's brown hair was liberally streaked with bright blue, and she had layered a black fishnet shirt over a green tank top. She was wearing orange tights under a short denim skirt and had on a pair of heavy leather boots. She surveyed Mal with a calculating look in her blue eyes. "You're Mal?" she asked bluntly.

"Yeah, that's me," Mal replied.

Dani's forehead puckered. "Huh," she said.

Mal frowned. "What?" she challenged.

"Nothing," Dani said quickly. "You're just...not what I expected."

Mal snorted. A petite, underweight girl, pale enough to look like death warmed over and wearing a brightly-colored knit cap with a pom-pom on top wasn't likely to be anyone's idea of a bodyguard. "Yeah. I get that."

"Sorry, that didn't come out right," Dani apologized. She stepped aside. "Come in."

Mal walked straight into the living room, following the sound of Sam's voice. She found him deep in discussion with the wheelchair-bound young man Dean had told her about—Logan. They were studying something on one of the many computer screens set up on the wall. Sam looked up as she approached and immediately moved towards her.

"Hey," he greeted. "You got everything you need?"

She dropped the bag on her shoulder to the floor. "Yup."

Sam placed his hand on the back of her neck. "This wasn't my idea," he told her in a low voice.

"We didn't have many options," she replied. "Go kill monsters." She ushered Sam and Dean out the door with many promises to keep an eye out and be careful. When the brothers were finally gone, she returned to her bag on the living room floor and pulled out a piece of chalk and a grease pencil. "You don't mind, do you?" she asked Dani.

Dani looked at the items in her hand for a moment. "Go to town," she said with a shrug.

"Awesome," Mal said. Windows were warded, doorways were trapped, and lines were salted. Dani and Logan watched the whole process with interest.

"That's not going to stop skinwalkers," Logan observed.

"Not for skinwalkers," Mal told him, finishing a sigil on one of the kitchen windows with the grease pen. "This one," she tapped the finished product. "Is for demons. That," she pointed across the room to the line of salt across the back door. "Is for ghosts _and_ demons. These here are for evil spirits in general."

Dani raised her eyebrows. "You don't actually think we'll need any of that, do you?"

"I sure hope not," Mal said with a shrug. "But I tend to err on the side of paranoid."

Logan chuckled a little at that. "Whatever makes you feel safe. I want you to be comfortable in our home. What your friends are doing for us," he shook his head. "We can never repay them."

Mal finally finished her work and stepped back to survey it. "Trust me," she told her hosts. "They're happy to do it. Well, maybe not _happy_, but..." she trailed off with a shrug. "It's what they do."

"That's what they said," Logan said with a nod. "How exactly do you get into this line of work?"

"Same way you did," Mal replied as she packed her supplies away. "Something nasty hurt their family."

"What about you?" Dani asked curiously.

Mal paused. "Something nasty hurt me," she replied softly, and continued putting away her tools.

"I'm sorry," Dani said, equally softly. Mal zipped her bag closed and got to her feet. "Do you want anything to eat?" Dani asked her. "Beer? Coffee?"

"Coffee would be great, thanks," Mal said with a grateful smile, both for the offer of caffeine and the fact Dani didn't pry. The other young woman bobbed her head and turned to Logan. He nodded as well.

"I'll make a big pot, then," Dani said. She shooed them back into the living room to give her space.

"Show me your security system," Mal asked, approaching the bank of computers with considerable caution. Back in her old life, she and computers went together a little like cats and water: they tolerated each other when necessary. Now, considering how much EMF she could put off, their relationship was even worse. So she was careful not to touch anything as Logan showed her all the cameras around the exterior of the house. Satisfied that she would be aware of anything approaching, she accepted the coffee from Dani and settled in for the night.

XxxXxxX

Sophia didn't look up when Castiel approached. She sat cross-legged on the grass, her skin dappled gold and dark by the leaves overhead. Her form in heaven had adapted to that of her vessel, so she appeared to be a young, innocent child. She held her hands in front of her, palms facing each other but several inches apart. Between them hovered a golden ball of light, fiery-orange symbols racing over its surface. Her brown eyes reflected the light in front of them, turning to molten gold.

Castiel stopped a few paces away from her, reluctant to disturb her work. She had desired solitude; that was the reason she'd come to the Garden. Even in the midst of war, the Garden was sacrosanct. Not even Raphael would dare launch an attack here.

Sophia continued to ignore Castiel, so intent was she on her task. Castiel wasn't sure exactly what information she was recording, but whatever it was, it would be stored forever within her Grace, ready for any other angel to access upon request.

The three other Archives had vanished without a trace. From what intelligence Castiel had managed to gather, Raphael might have had something to do with it. If he had and, as Castiel feared, they were dead, then Sophia was the lone retainer of all heaven's knowledge.

Castiel cleared his throat. "Sophia. I apologize, but I need to speak with you."

She blinked but otherwise didn't acknowledge him. Castiel stood for a moment, and then sighed and sat on the grass in front of her, shuffling his wings until he found a comfortable position, the silver-white pinions spread out over the lawn behind him.

Sophia finally exhaled, soft and slow, and the ball of light was absorbed back into her hands. She folded them in her lap and lifted her gaze to Castiel's face, her expression plainly inquiring.

"Crowley came to me," Castiel began bluntly. There were many things he was unsure of in his new role, but this one thing had not changed: it was essential to be completely honest with the Archives. "He told me news about Abaddon."

Something in Sophia's eyes shifted, the brown irises darkening just perceptively. Then she was back to normal: neutral, attentive.

"If Crowley is to be trusted," here Sophia interrupted with a sudden impolite snort. Castiel nodded in agreement. "If he is to be trusted," he began again, "Abaddon is looking for Purgatory."

The Archive's expression suddenly went completely blank. Her hands gripped each other until yellow bone showed through her skin. Her lips pressed into a thin line. She jerked her head in acknowledgment and invitation to continue.

"I need what information you have on Purgatory if I am to prevent Abaddon from succeeding," Castiel said. The last thing he needed was a second enemy and another army to fight, but he didn't see much of a choice.

Sophia rose jerkily to her feet and turned on her heel, stalking away from Castiel. He stared after her for a moment, surprised by her reaction, and then got to his feet to follow. She stopped a few yards away in a patch of uninhibited light, her wings wrapped tightly around her. The pinions were ivory, a shade away from white, and the light shone through them as if through porcelain, revealing the pale edging of blue and tan on each feather.

"Sophia, please," Castiel began, but she cut him off by shaking her head. She turned to face him, eyes narrow and challenging.

"I know that what I am asking is dangerous," the archangel replied to her silent accusation. "But I don't have another choice."

Sophia raised an eyebrow. Castiel sighed faintly. "Yes," he admitted. "We are spread thin. But I believe I may be able to spare Stephen for this task." Sophia's other eyebrow joined the first. "Even if he is a combat medic," Castiel finished.

The waist-high angel fully opened her wings, folding them into place behind her back. She reached up to tap her chest, right over her breastbone, and gestured toward Castiel.

"No," he replied immediately. "I don't want to put them in danger."

Sophia rolled her eyes and shrugged theatrically, spreading her hands and fingers. "I realize that they attract trouble anyways, but they don't need any more," Castiel insisted.

The female angel pursed her lips and placed one hand on her stomach. "That is why I cannot ask them to do this," Castiel replied softly. "I will not endanger Mallory's child."

Sophia scowled, marched over to the taller angel, and poked him sharply in the stomach. Castiel stumbled backwards a step, caught off guard, and Sophia glared angrily up at him, wings flared aggressively. She poked him again, harder this time. Castiel caught her hand, feeling the fragile bones in his grip.

"Yes. I know," he said softly. "He will do anything I ask. That is why I cannot ask him this."

Sophia jerked her hand from his grasp, rubbing both of them over her head. A short cap of stubble

covered her scalp, the hair growing in dark brown. Setting her fists on her hips, she fixed Castiel with a hot glare, lips tight. Castiel, archangel that he was, dropped his gaze first. "I am not used to having friends," he admitted after a moment. "Siblings, yes. But not friends. If they agree to this, will you watch over them?"

Her expression instantly softened and she reached out to take Castiel's hand in both of hers, squeezing gently. He offered her the tiniest of smiles. "Thank you, sister."

XxxXxxX

Dean wriggled forward on his stomach, trying to ignore the dust every one of his movements kept disturbing. The weight on his back made his shoulder ache, the one he'd dislocated twice. Damn, he was getting old for this shit.

_No. Not thinking about that. He was thirty-one, dammit._

With an annoyed grunt, he kept working his way down the suspended walkway, praying that the industrial fans covered whatever noise his progress was making. The interior of the old hanger was dark, lit only by a few bare bulbs and one floodlight in the center of the hanger floor.

Dean paused to check over the edge of the catwalk. He didn't have an uninterrupted view of the entire hanger. Snorting in a vain attempt to clear his nostrils of the ever-present dust, he kept moving. He froze when he heard voices beneath him, and a slamming door.

"You were supposed to be keeping an eye out!" exclaimed an angry, male Boston accent.

"He was undercover," protested a second male voice, also from Boston. "How the hell was I supposed to know he was a narc?"

"Russell's not gonna be happy when he finds out we offed a cop."

"He doesn't have to know. We still made the deal."

Dean eased an eye over the edge of the catwalk and saw the two men walking across the hanger floor, still arguing. Both of them were wearing loose clothing that could be easily discarded within seconds if necessary. They disappeared into the shadows on the other side of the hanger, their voices dropping to unintelligible.

A few more yards down the catwalk and Dean found the perfect vantage point. He rolled onto his side to unload the burden on his back. He unzipped the long case and pulled the .308 rifle free, wriggling around until he got it positioned to his liking. Now all he had to do was wait.

He'd started to get a cramp in his right leg before something finally began happening. He heard a yell from outside the hanger, and then a shadowed figure darted across the floor on silent feet. Dean only needed to see the figure run to immediately identify him as his little brother. Just before Sam disappeared among the boxes, crates, and tarps jumbled against the far wall, he turned and tossed something high into the air.

The flare tumbled end over end until it landed square in the middle of the shadowed end of the hanger, illuminating the last portion hidden to Dean's sight. The two Bostonians bolted into view from the same direction Sam had come, grinding to a halt at the sight of the hanger...and no Sam. "Where the fuck did he go?" one of the demanded.

The other replied by pulling off his shirt. He was reaching for his pants when Dean put a silver bullet through his back, straight into his heart. The other skinwalker whirled around, making the mistake of trying to track the shot instead of diving for cover. Dean's second bullet took him in the face. His third found the skinwalker's heart.

"Idiots," Dean muttered, sliding the bolt to eject the spent cartridge. Sam darted back into view, skidding to a halt over the bodies and looking up to give Dean a thumb's-up. He stooped to grab one of the corpse's arms and drag it out of sight behind a stack of crates. He was half-way to retrieving the second corpse when a blurred streak of fur exploded from the tarps.

Sam cried out in surprise as the dog impacted him at full-speed, knocking him to the ground. By sheer luck he managed to get one hand around the animal's throat, keeping it from biting him. Dean sighted through his rifle's scope, but Sam's head was blocking his shot to the skinwalker's heart.

"Dammit," he muttered, coiling to get to his feet.

Sam delivered a left hook to the dog's ear, stunning it enough to give him enough time to yank a knife from his boot. He buried it to the hilt in the skinwalker's neck. It howled in pain and recoiled backwards, flopping onto the ground as it writhed in agony. Sam scrambled to his feet, doing a quick check of himself to make sure there were no puncture wounds.

"Move, Sammy," Dean ordered under his breath, settling back behind his rifle. "Move, move, move."

Sam did, finally, stepping back from the injured skinwalker. Something about his body language pinged on Dean's radar, and he looked up from his scope with a frown. Sam kept backing up, eyes fixed on something underneath the catwalk Dean was currently on. Finally, two more people stepped into view, both of them carrying pistols, and both of them aimed directly at Sam's chest.

Dean's sigh exploded into a cloud of dust. "Well, _crap_."

He took about three seconds to come up with a plan to rescue Sam from the pistol-wielding skinwalkers. Getting to his feet as silently as he could, he slung the .308 over his shoulder using the strap and climbed over the rail. Clinging to the wire, he glanced down to check his position, and then let go.

He hit both of the skinwalkers on his way down, landing on them instead of the concrete floor. He lay there for a moment, dazed by the fifteen-foot drop, and then Sam was grabbing him, hauling him to his feet. "What the hell was that, you freak?" Sam demanded.

"That was me saving your ass," Dean muttered, trying to get his lungs working again. The two skinwalkers began stirring. Dean turned around and kicked the nearest one over onto his back. He swung the rifle off his shoulder and shot the man through the chest. He turned to the other one to find her halfway to dog-form and already leaping at him.

Dean threw himself backwards out of the way, landing on his but and bruising his tailbone. The skinwalker missed her lunge and landed fully canine, claws scraping over the concrete as she slid to a halt. She whirled and lunged for Dean again, only for a gunshot to ring out. She collapsed on her side, howling and whimpering. Sam looked down at her for a moment, then sighted down his pistol and finished her off.

"Son of a bitch," Dean grumbled, getting back to his feet. It was gonna be hell sitting down tomorrow.

Sam only snorted. "You're welcome," he said, and stalked over to the skinwalker he'd knifed earlier. The creature was still in animal form, gone limp now from blood loss, but still alive. Sam quickly put it out of its misery. A moment later, they had three human corpses.

Dean crouched to look at the face of the male skinwalker he'd killed. "This makes seven, right?" he asked, chewing on his lower lip.

"Yeah," Sam replied, coming over to join him and slipping his pistol into the back of his waistband.

Dean looked up at his brother. "Russell isn't here."

XxxXxxX

The house was silent and dark, Dani and Logan retiring to bed. Mal had taken up post on the couch where she could see the security footage and hear if anyone tried to enter through the front or back doors. She had her notebook open in her lap and she chewed on the end of her pencil. She slowly flipped through the last couple of pages.

She hadn't realized it when she'd started writing, but everything was in Enochian. After she noticed, it had made sense. It was much easier to put down the memories of an angel in the language they were remembered in. She'd torn out and burned the pages with the demonic script and Abaddon's sigil. Some deep instinct had warned her that even the pencil-inscribed copy of the sigil was dangerous.

Mal turned to a blank page and took her pencil out of her mouth, beginning to make the inscriptions that were now more natural to her than even English. This particular memory was fresh, only having come to her last night.

_Desert. Water. Palm trees. An oasis? Tents. The smell of spices and unwashed bodies. Crouching in the sand beside a small child: a girl._

"_You are not like the others, Miriam," she tells the child. "You are not a monster."_

_Brown hair falling into wide, innocent eyes. "Why do they want to kill me?"_

_A hand to smooth the unruly curls. "Because they are afraid of you."_

Mallory finished writing and the pencil went back between her lips. There had been some pretty strong emotions behind this memory, most not fully identifiable. Except one: fear. Mal had pondered long and hard what Amitiel would have been afraid of, but she didn't dare venture too far into the dark waters of the angel's memories.

"They say keeping a journal is a good way of relieving stress."

The notebook and pencil went flying in two different directions and Mallory did her best to climb onto the back of the sofa. Heart pounding, her eyes fixed on the opposite side of the room. Abaddon sat on the chair there, ankle to opposite knee. He held his cane across his lap. The crimson rose stood out on his lapel like a bloodstain.

"You're not really here," Mal whispered through numb lips, trying harder to disappear into the couch. Abaddon grinned crookedly at her.

"I don't have to be," he replied. "I can crawl into your lovely noggin whenever I want." He tilted his head at her. "What, you thought that since you escaped from hell you were free? No, sweet child. You see, you and I are connected. We have a...bond, you could say."

"What do you want?" Mal forced out from between clenched teeth. She wanted to flee but didn't dare make any sudden movement lest he attack. She could remember in vivid detail every psychic torture, every mental torment, and it completely paralyzed her in fear.

"You mean in the long run, or right now?" Abaddon asked, his smirk growing. "Because I want everything, darling. Hell. Earth. You, at my side where you belong. But right now I'll settle for seeing that you don't get a wink of sleep tonight."

"If you want me, why haven't you come for me?" she asked, and immediately wished she could snatch the words back, lest they sound like a challenge.

Abaddon shrugged. "Everything in time. There are certain...obstacles...that need removing first."

Her eyes narrowed slightly. "You don't know where I am," she whispered. His smile grew brittle. A tiny spark of courage burst into life in Mal's chest. "You can't find me," she said louder.

He chuckled and shook his head, recovering from his moment of vulnerability. "Ah, sweetheart, don't get your hopes up. Just because your lovely little angel's Grace hides you from my sight doesn't mean I don't have other methods at my disposal. I will find you. And when I do, you will come to me. Willingly."

"Don't count on it," Mal whispered.

Abaddon leaned forward and winked at her. "I'd bet on it," he retorted.

Mallory came awake in midair. She had precisely half a second to try to figure out where she was before the hardwood floor hit her back with painful force, driving all the air out of her lungs. "Oof," she gasped, blinking up at the ceiling. With stiff movements, she sat up, rubbing the back of her head. She had narrowly missed the coffee table by about two inches. Her notebook was under the table. Her pencil was nowhere to be found.

Mal retrieved her notebook and flipped it open to the last page, relieved to find there was no dream-writing this time. She stayed on the floor a moment longer, breathing deeply. A light in the hallway clicked on, and Dani stuck her head in the living room.

"Are you all right?" she asked, frowning. "I thought I heard something."

"Yeah, it's fine," Mal assured her. "I fell asleep and rolled off the couch."

"Ouch," Dani winced sympathetically. She stepped into the living room. She was wearing a t-shirt nightgown that reached her knees and a pair of fuzzy purple slippers. "Didja hit anything on the way down?"

"Just the floor," Mal replied, getting back onto the couch. "Sorry for waking you up."

Dani shook her head, blue-streaked hair swishing around her shoulders. "I wasn't asleep." Shuffling over to the couch, she indicated the unoccupied end. "Mind if I join you?"

"Go ahead," Mal replied. Dani plopped bonelessly onto the sofa with a deep sigh. "Rough night?" Mal asked, slightly amused.

"Well, the guy who's done his best to ruin my life for the last five years is in town," Dani replied dryly. "Nah, not really."

Mal chuckled noiselessly. "Yeah. I get the feeling." Then she shuddered involuntarily, the terror of Abaddon's visit still fresh. Dani zeroed in on her with intense blue eyes.

"Do you do it, too?" she asked.

Mal blinked at her. "Do what?"

"Kill monsters."

"No," Mal replied immediately. "No, I don't. I just..." she trailed off, unsure of what exactly it was she did. "Sam and Dean saved my life," she said at length. "They're like my family, now."

Dani nodded. "Logan saved mine, too. We met two years ago. I had no money, nowhere to go... He offered me a job. He owns his own business. Internet security."

"You good with computers?" Mal asked.

Dani laughed. "Heck, no. But he needed someone to drive him around and carry equipment. After he found out about Russell...we went on the run together. He's done everything he can to keep me safe."

Mal smiled. "You're lucky to have him."

The other girl smiled back. "I know."

Glass shattered in the kitchen. Mal was up and moving before the sound even stopped, her sword in her hand. "Stay here," she barked at Dani, and ran for the kitchen. Just as she rounded the doorway, a dark shape blurred toward her. She twisted to the side at the last possible moment, letting the dog pass harmlessly by her. It landed awkwardly in the hallway and skidded on the hardwood floors, only stopping when it met the front door.

Mal bolted forward, hoping to press her advantage, but the skinwalker quickly gained its feet. Mal dropped into a crouch, eying her opponent. It was a lanky shepherd mix with reddish-brown fur and a scar across its muzzle. Mal flipped her sword into a reverse grip. "What are you waiting for?" she challenged.

The dog snarled and lunged again, aiming for her sword arm. Mallory again dodged the attack, slamming her fist against the skinwalker's ribs with all her strength. There was a dull _crack_ and the dog landed with a yelp of pain, falling and struggling to get back to its feet. Mal stalked over to it, readying her sword, when all of the sudden it wasn't a dog anymore, it was a lanky woman with russet hair and a scar across her lips.

"Please don't," she begged, raising one hand and clutching at her ribs with the other. "Please."

Mal took a deep breath. "I'm sorry," she whispered, and raised her sword.

"No!" Dani cried out, standing only a few feet down the hallway. "Mallory, _don't_!" Mal froze, caught off-guard by Dani's plea. The other young woman hurried forward, hands raised in supplication. "Don't kill her, please," Dani begged.

"Dani, what's going on?" Mal demanded, keeping her attention on the skinwalker at her feet.

"Her name is Lara," Dani said breathlessly. "She used to be my friend, back in Chicago. Please don't hurt her."

Mal stared down at the scarred woman for a long time before finally lowering her blade. "Dani, go get something for Lara to wear," she ordered. "And bring me the strongest chair you have."

Twenty minutes later, Mallory sat in the kitchen opposite Lara, who was tied to a metal chair. Mal crossed her arms over her chest, her sword still held in her right hand. Logan rolled himself to Mal's side.

"What are we going to do?" he asked softly.

Mal never took her eyes off Lara. "Wait for Sam and Dean to get back," she replied. "You should keep an eye out, make sure there's no more." He nodded and rolled into the living room. "Dani, go with him," Mal ordered.

"But," the other young woman tried to begin but Mal cut her off with a look. She obediently went.

"Are you going to kill me?" Lara asked timidly, not daring to meet Mal's gaze.

"That depends," Mal replied tersely.

Lara's eyes darted up for a second. "On what?"

"On you," Mal said.

The skinwalker frowned. "But you think I'm a monster," she said, confused.

Mal sighed and uncrossed her arms. "A monster isn't what you _are_," she told Lara. "It's what you _do._ There are human monsters, too. Trust me, I've met a few. You have a choice, Lara. You could go through life, never hurting anyone, and I'll be happy to leave you alone."

Lara's confusion grew. "But...you're a hunter. Russell's told us about your kind."

Mal leaned forward, propping her elbows on her knees. "I'm not a hunter, Lara," she said softly. "I don't want to kill anyone. I just..." she trailed off. "I just want what everyone wants, I guess," she continued wearily. "I want to be safe, happy. You can have that. All you have to do is make the right choices."

There was a noise from the living room. Mallory looked up at the doorway and managed to catch a glimpse of blue hair around the edge. She got to her feet. "Don't go anywhere," she told Lara. Dani was hovering just inside the doorway to the living room.

"Did you mean it?" she asked softly, eyes wide.

"Mean what?" Mal asked, brow puckered.

"What you said...about monsters." Dani ran a lock of hair through her fingers, alternately smoothing and twisting the indigo strand.

"Yes, I did," Mal assured her. She reached out and touched Dani's shoulder. "You okay?"

"Fine, yeah," Dani said quickly, trying to summon a smile.

"Uh, ladies?" Logan said nervously. "We have a problem." Mal and Dani turned to stare at him as he pushed away from his computer station. He pointed at one of the screens. "Russell is here."

"Oh, God," Dani whispered, her face growing pale. On the screens, a tall man with long, greasy dark hair prowled the edge of the property, looking for a way in. Mal plunged her hand into her pocket and yanked out her cellphone. Sam was speed-dial one, and he picked up on the first ring.

"He's here," Mal blurted. "Where the hell are you?"

"On our way," Sam replied tightly. "Don't do anything stupid."

"No promises," Mal told him and hung up. "Logan, go back to the bedroom and lock the door. No offense, but I need you out of the way."

He didn't look insulted. "What about Dani?" he demanded.

Mal turned to look at her. "I'm gonna need a wingman. You up for it?" Dani clenched her jaw and nodded despite the fact the blood had not returned to her face.

"Dani," Logan protested, but she cut him off.

"I can do this, Logan," she insisted. "I need to do this."

"Do you have something heavy?" Mal demanded. "Or anything silver?"

"We've got an old fireplace set in the basement," Dani replied instantly. "I think there's a poker." she darted off, leaving the other two behind.

Mal gestured at Logan. "Go. Move."

He frowned up at her. "Don't let her get hurt," he asked.

"I won't," she promised. "Hurry up." Once Logan was gone, Mal checked the security cameras again. Russel had scaled the fence and was now circling the building. She heard the back door rattle when he tried it. Then her heart skipped a beat. The window in the kitchen was broken.

"_Shit_," Mallory spat, and bolted into the room just as Lara screamed. The chair she was tied to was tipped over onto the floor, and she bled from three long gashes down her arm. A huge, dark-furred wolf stood over her, lips peeled back to reveal yellowed fangs. The beast's head whipped around at Mal's entrance, mustard-yellow eyes burning with hate and anger.

The wolf coiled his muscles, giving Mallory a fraction of a second's notice, just enough to dive out of the way as he pounced. He flew over her and landed in the doorway out to the hall, digging his claws in for traction and carving grooves into the floor. Mal scrambled to her feet, readying her sword.

Dani appeared from nowhere, bringing the iron poker down with all her strength onto the back of Russell's head. "That's for Dylan, you son of a bitch!" she shrieked, swinging the poker back up for another blow.

The wolf stumbled forward from the strength of Dani's strike, but recovered enough to turn on her, teeth snapping closed inches from her throat as she desperately backpedaled out of the way. Dani lost her balance and fell, landing on her butt and dropping the poker. She scrambled backwards as Russel lunged forward again.

Mal ran towards them, hoping to take advantage of Russell's distraction, but he spun around on his hind legs just as Mal reached him, bulling forward and ramming his shoulder into her stomach. Mal's breath left her in a rush but she still managed to score a long slice down Russell's side, the fur dampening immediately with blood. He snarled and recoiled, wary of Mal's sword.

She darted past him, grabbed Dani's arm, and hauled the other girl to her feet, bolting toward the front door. Russell would follow them out of the house, away from Logan and Lara. Just as they reached the door, it burst inward, and there were Sam and Dean, pistols raised and ready.

"Down!" Dean barked, and Mal threw herself to the floor, dragging Dani with her. Gunshots rang out over them, so many Mal lost count. Then it was finally silent. Mal lifted her head and twisted around. Russell's naked, bloody body lay in the hallway, completely still.

Dani stared at the corpse with wide eyes. "Oh, my God," she whispered. "Oh, my God."

Logan appeared from the bedroom. "Dani!" he called. "Are you all right."

"I'm fine," she assured him, getting to her feet and hurrying over to give him a hug. He smoothed her hair back form her face and kissed her.

Sam reached down to help Mal up. "Nice timing," she commented, smiling lopsidedly at him.

He grinned back at her and looked her up and down, visually checking her over. His smile suddenly turned to horror. "Mal," he whispered, reaching for her arm. "You're bleeding."

Mal looked down. There was a crescent-shaped tear in her sleeve, the edges stained with blood.


	15. Chapter 15

A/N: I have a very important question for you. How terribly would you mind if I brought characters from another fandom in to play? I won't be changing this to a crossover as none of the others in the series were. The other characters wouldn't be stars...more like recurring. What are your thoughts? Yay or nay?

XXXXX

Mal stared at the wound for a long moment. Then she yanked up her sleeve, frantically wiping the blood from the injury. Sam's hand closed around her wrist again. "Let me see," he ordered, voice tight. He used the cuff of his sleeve to mop away the blood, revealing a curved, shallow gash in her pale skin.

"That's not a bite mark," Mal said, her voice breaking. "That's not a bite. It's gotta be from a claw. He—Russell jumped right over me. He must've caught my arm. Didn't even feel it."

"Son of a bitch," Sam breathed slowly. "Don't _ever_ do that to me again."

Mal giggled, just on the edge of hysteria. "Sorry." She gave a squeak of surprise when Sam swept her into his arms, and she buried her face in his shirt, which smelled like dust and faintly of sweat.

"Well, I'm gonna get rid of this," Dean said loudly, pushing past Mal and Sam, taking care to jostle Sam's shoulder. Sam didn't even look around. Dean stood for a moment, pondering Russell's corpse. "Hey, Logan. You got a tarp or something?"

"We've got some old blankets in the linen closet," the younger man replied.

"I'll get them," Dani announced, scampering off. She returned a moment later and handed the blankets to Dean. "You need any help?

"Nah, I got this," Dean assured her. "Unfortunately, I got plenty of experience moving bodies."

Mal giggled into Sam's chest again, letting the panic slowly ease away. His heart rate was slowing down, too. She could feel it pulsing within the Grace. "You got the others?" she asked.

"Yeah, we took care of it," he replied.

"Uh...hey Mal?" Dean called from somewhere else in the house. "How come you've got a bleeding chick tied to a chair?"

"Oh, crap," Mal yelped, pulling away from Sam and hurrying down the hallway into the kitchen. Dean was just setting Lara's chair upright again. She looked like she was going into shock, her eyes fixed on the bloody bundle of blankets on the kitchen floor.

"Is that Russell?" she demanded. "Did you kill Russell?"

Mal went down on one knee to check the claw-marks on Lara's upper arm. "Yes, we did," she replied. "He's dead. You're free now, Lara." She began to untie the woman. "Dani, I need first aid supplies."

"Got it." Dani disappeared again.

"Mal," Dean said. "Who is she and why was she tied up?"

"Her name is Lara and she was one of Russell's pack. He turned her to get back at Dani. They used to be friends."

Dean watched as Mallory finished undoing the last knot. "And you're untying her...why?"

"Because she's hurt and I need to treat her injuries," Mal snapped. "Now are you going to get rid of the body or not?"

"You expect me to walk out of this house and leave you with a live skinwalker?" Dean demanded in disbelief.

"She's not going to hurt anyone," Mal told him. "Are you, Lara?"

"No," Lara said in a tiny voice.

"See?" Mal said to Dean without looking at him. She began pulling the torn cloth away from the wounds, checking to make sure none of the material had made it into the gashes. "Perfectly safe."

"Mal, she's—" Dean began, but Mal whipped her head around and glared at him. It might have been the lighting, but he could have sworn her normally-pale irises darkened to storm-gray.

"Not going to hurt anyone," she growled. "Now _go._"

Dani returned with a first-aid kit. "Here," she said, handing it to Mal. She knelt down on the other side of Lara. "It's going to be okay, now," she told her former friend. "We'll take care of you, Lara. I promise."

Lara looked down at the girl. "He was always looking for you," she whispered, her expression unreadable. "He never stopped." Mal applied hydrogen peroxide to the claw-wounds, but Lara didn't even flinch. "It's all he ever talked about."

"That's all over," Dani assured her. "Mal's right. You're free now."

"Free," Lara breathed the word. Her fists clenched. "You were free, Dani. And I wasn't. I had to follow him around the Goddamn country, always looking for _you_. I was the one with him every day and he never even looked at me."

Dani stared at her, completely bemused. "What...what are you talking about?" she whispered. "Lara...?"

Mal paused in her ministrations, aware that something was wrong, but she hadn't been following the conversation. Sam had gone to help Dean with the body. Logan was in the doorway to the hall, directly behind Mal.

Lara leaned in close to Dani, her face suddenly a snarl. "This was _all your fault_," she hissed, and then she was out of the chair, leaping through the air towards Logan. Mal spun to her feet, sword in hand, but she was too late.

Lara landed on Logan's lap in full canine form, knocking him over and out of his wheelchair. He cried out in surprise and pain, trying to pull himself backwards away from the skinwalker. Lara's head darted down, teeth snapping.

A tan-furred dog hit Lara broadside, slamming her into the wall with a howl of rage. Lara turned and sank her teeth into the neck of her attacker. It rose onto its hind legs, shaking its head wildly in an attempt to break loose.

Mal stared for a moment at the battling animals before darting forward and grabbing Logan under his arms, dragging him to safety. She turned back to the two dogs, noting rather distantly that the tan one was, in fact, a coyote, not a dog.

Logan latched onto the edge of her jacket. Mal looked down. "Don't," he begged. "Whatever you're thinking. Please. Don't."

There was a high-pitched yelp of pain and Mal whirled around. The coyote was on the floor, legs flailing, while Lara stood over it, teeth still buried in its neck. Mal lunged forward, dropped to her knees, and skidded into position beside the two animals, plunging her sword to the hilt into Lara's ribcage.

Lara released the coyote with a choked gargle and collapsed onto the other animal, blood bubbling from around the blade. Mal yanked her sword free and the flow of blood increased, staining the coyote's fur. With a grunt, Mal heaved the body off the coyote and placed her hand on the creature's neck, just shy of the wound. The coyote stared up at her with desperate, pleading eyes.

"Mallory," Logan said desperately from behind her. "I'm begging you. Don't kill her."

Mallory swallowed on a dry mouth and throat. She still held her bloodstained sword in one hand, raised above the coyote's panting chest. Footsteps pounded in the kitchen.

"What the hell happened?" Dean demanded.

"I was wrong about Lara," Mal replied breathlessly. "Don't worry. She's dead."

"I can see that," Dean snarked. Mal shot a glance at the body. Lara had returned to human form, a still-bleeding hole under her left arm. "Who the hell do you have there?"

Mal looked back down at the coyote. "This," she said. "Is Dani."

Utter silence followed her revelation.

"Dani's a skinwalker?" Sam asked quietly.

"She's never hurt anyone, I swear," Logan protested. "She's only ever wanted to live a normal life."

Dani morphed back to human, lying awkwardly on her side, pinned down by Mallory's hand. "You said you meant it...about the monsters," she panted, tears pooling in her eyes. "I'm sorry. I did want to tell you, but I was scared."

"Dani," Mal said softly. "I knew you were a skinwalker from the moment I met you."

Dani's eyes widened, her lips trembling. Mal lifted her hand slowly, putting her dripping sword down at the same time. Then, with both hands, she began probing the bite-marks on the other girl's throat. "It's not deep," she said. "You'll be fine."

She looked over her shoulder at Sam and Dean, both of whom were staring at her with blank expressions. "The first aid kit is still in there," she said briskly. "Could you grab it for me, please?" Neither of them moved. "Sam," she barked. "First aid kit."

He startled. "Right. Got it." he ducked behind Dean and reappeared a moment later, case in hand.

"Whoa, wait a minute," Dean said, grabbing Sam's arm to stop him. "That's it?"

"That's what?" Mal asked, annoyed. Dani was starting to bleed heavier and Mal pressed the heel of her hand to the wound.

"She's a skinwalker," Dean said.

"Yes, we covered that, Dean," Mal snapped. "Now I've got to stop the bleeding, so if you don't mind?"

"Dean, she's right," Sam said. "Dani's done nothing wrong."

"We know that for sure?" Dean challenged.

Mal turned to look Dani straight in the eye. Once more, her silvery irises darkened. "Dani, have you ever hurt anyone except out of self-defense or defense of Logan?" she demanded.

"No," Dani whispered. "Never."

"There," Mal said, her eyes returning to normal. "She's telling the truth. Happy now?"

Sam pulled away from Dean and crouched next to Mal, holding out the open kit. She went to work quickly and efficiently. She had two years of nursing school under her belt, plus countless hours of intern work, and first aid was old hat. Once she was done, she sat back on her heels and looked down at herself. Her shirt was a complete loss, blood spattered all down the front.

"I'm gonna clean up," she announced. "Then we're all going to get some sleep and talk about this later, all right?" She glared at Dean.

"Fine," he said tightly.

When Mal emerged from the bathroom fifteen minutes later, her ruined shirt in one hand and wearing only her camisole, Logan was once more in his wheelchair and Dani had redressed in her nightgown. They were eying Sam and Dean warily. Dean was openly eying them back. Sam was studying the bloodstains on the wood. Lara's body was gone.

Upon seeing Mal's lack of outerwear, Sam peeled off his button-up, leaving him in the t-shirt beneath. Mal took it gratefully, rolling up the sleeves until she could see her hands. "We ready to go?" she asked.

"Yeah," Dean said, clearly not happy with her. He looked back at Dani and Logan. "Don't try going anywhere. We'll be back."

The drive to the motel was silent. Mal could tell from the Mark that Sam was annoyed, frustrated, and a little angry, but she couldn't tell with whom, though she had a pretty good guess. Dean practically broadcasted his unhappiness in waves. When they reached the motel, he handed the keys to Sam.

"I'm gonna hit the bar down the street," he said tersely.

"It's one in the morning," Sam pointed out.

"Well, it's still open," Dean retorted, climbing out of the van and slamming the door.

Mal walked into the motel room and tossed her bag into a corner, reaching up to yank her cap off and run her fingers over her short, prickly hair. Sam closed and locked the door behind her, setting the keys down on the table with a faint jingle.

"What the hell was that?" he demanded.

She spun to face him, her expression confused. "What the hell was what?" she asked.

"You knew about Dani?" Sam crossed his arms over his chest.

"You backed me up, Sam," Mal said warily.

"I backed you up because you were right but that's not how you should have handled things," Sam told her harshly. "You said you knew Dani was a skinwalker the moment you met her. You should have told us then."

Mal's confusion began to turn into annoyance. "Well, I had my reasons," she retorted, setting her hands on her hips.

"You're not supposed to hide stuff from us," Sam said, his jaw tight.

"Yeah, like you've never hidden anything from me," Mal snarled in a sudden flash of fury. Sam's face darkened.

"Mal," he began warningly.

"You know, at some point you're gonna have to start trusting me, Sam," she interrupted.

"I do trust you," he gritted out.

Mal slashed her hand through the air. "No you don't," she insisted. "You still treat me like..."

"Like what?" Sam challenged when she trailed off.

"Like I don't know what I'm doing," she snapped.

"You _don't_ know what you're doing, Mal!" Sam burst out. "You're not a hunter. How long have you been doing this? Five months? How much experience do you _actually_ have?"

Mal's head came up and back, her expression deadly. She hissed at him and, failing to find the words to express herself in English, began ranting at him in Enochian. "_Adphaht noromi ababalond, orsba erm grosb cnila! Noaln sobam tatan bytmoni_..." Recovering enough to realize that Sam had no idea what she was yelling, she calmed herself down.

"I have thousands of years of knowledge and experience jammed into my head right now, Sam Winchester," she growled. "Don't mistake me for naive."

He looked as if he wanted to say something, thought better of it, and turned his back on her, running both hands over his long hair and exhaling through clenched teeth. Mallory continued to take deep breaths, fighting down her emotions so she could better evaluate his. It was hard to separate him from her; everything was a jumble of frustration, anger, fading panic, and worry. But buried deep among all the bitterness she found bedrock: a foundation, palpable and tangible. It surprised her, chasing away her injured pride and fury.

She undid the buttons of her shirt and shrugged it off, dropping it onto the floor. Sam turned around just as she tugged her camisole over her head, leaving her just in her jeans and bra.

"What—what are you doing?" Sam asked, forgetting his own anger in favor of confusion.

Mal shrugged and tossed her camisole after her shirt. "I'm tired of arguing," she told him. "So I just want to have sex and forget about it. Can we just do that, please?"

He stared at her for a long moment, his eyes flicking from her face to her exposed skin and back to her face again. "This isn't the way to solve anything," he said.

"I'm not trying to solve anything," Mal replied. "I'm trying to put it off until we're not exhausted and strung-out. The last few weeks have been insane and it's no wonder we're at each others throats. So we can either stay mad and sulk for the next twelve hours _or_ we can have sex and at least get a good night's rest. Your choice." She raised an eyebrow and waited.

Sam finally sighed. "Oh, what the hell."

She smirked. "Good." She hopped onto the bed and he walked over toward her, pulling off his own t-shirt as he went. The bed dipped under his weight and Mal let it tug her towards him, wrapping her arms around his neck and pressing her mouth against his. Sam took control almost immediately, and she was quite happy to let him. He kissed her with lips and teeth and tongue, demanding and offering at the same time.

Mal slid over into his lap, pinning his hips between her knees and he dropped one hand to her thigh, drawing her closer against him. He gave off heat in waves, stark contrast to her cooled skin and she wanted to drink it in, pressing as much bare skin together as possible. His other hand started at her waist and wandered up her back, tracing over each bony ridge of her ribs.

Cool air kissed her back, making her shiver, and the room was filled with the whisper of multiple wings. Sam and Mal broke apart and turned to look over at the far corner. Castiel stood with wide eyes, his expression frozen in surprise. He seemed to take in their state of undress and the passion of their embrace and a faint tinge of red colored his cheekbones.

"Hey, Cas," Sam greeted mildly while Mal hid her face against his neck. She giggled quietly, breath puffing against his skin.

"Uh, yes, I, uh—" Castiel dithered for a moment before pulling himself together. "Where—where is Dean?"

"Try the bar down the street," Sam replied evenly.

"Yes," Castiel said again. "Thank you. My apologies." He vanished hurriedly, leaving behind a single white feather in his rush.

Mallory slid sideways, twisting to land on her back on the bed. She burst into giggles again, pressing her hand over her mouth in a vain attempt to contain them. Sam looked down at her. "What's so funny?"

She seemed to be having a hard time getting the words out, but she finally manage to gasp between chortles, "His _face_!" Sam chuckled and flopped down beside her, bouncing her slightly. She immediately rolled over on top of him, propping her chin on her hands where they were folded on his chest.

"Do you think we've scarred him for life?" she asked with a grin.

"Maybe not for _life_," Sam replied.

"He really needs to learn how to knock," Mal observed.

"Maybe he's learned now," he said.

"I hope so," she said, and leaned down to kiss him again. "See?" she murmured against his lips. "My evil plan has worked."

Sam growled in his throat and hooked his arm around her waist, easily flipping them over so he was braced above her. Mal was abruptly confronted by how physically _large_ Sam was. He wasn't just tall; he was built like a brick wall and she, in comparison, was tiny and fragile, without a spare ounce of weight on her body. Yet his every touch was remarkably gentle, as if he was afraid of breaking her by accident. That was, of course, entirely unlikely, as she was easily his match or more in strength, but she still found the sentiment endearing.

So she let Sam treat her like she was made of porcelain, for now. Later she would remind him that she was more than capable of protecting herself and the baby she carried.

XxxXxxX

Dean looked up at the familiar sound of an incoming angel. "Cas," he greeted, a grin briefly lighting up his face. "Didn't expect to see you." The archangel stood beside Dean's chair at the bar, looking flustered. His color was high. Dean frowned and peered at his friend. "Hey, you okay?"

"I looked for you at the motel first," Castiel began.

Dean snorted. "Huh. Yeah. I figured they were gonna blow up the moment we got back, so I got out of the line of fire."

"They were not...arguing," Cas said delicately.

Dean had unfortunately chosen that moment to take a long pull from his beer and was forced to spend the next few seconds doing his best not to spray it all over the bar. He was red-faced and shaking by the time he was able to swallow, and promptly burst out laughing. Cas exhaled through his nose and pressed his lips together, waiting for Dean's mirth to run itself out.

When he was finally done, Dean clapped Cas on the shoulder. "Pull up a chair," he invited. "Hey, bartender, let me get another."

Castiel considered protesting when Dean pressed the bottle into his hand, but then shrugged and took a sip, his senses instantly analyzing and identifying all of the ingredients of the liquid.

"So, down to business," Dean said. "This about Crowley?"

"Indirectly," Castiel replied. "He paid me a visit, too. He had the audacity to attempt to make a deal with me." Dean raised his eyebrows. "I turned him down," Cas said, slightly indignant at Dean's silent question. "But his point is still relevant. If Abaddon is searching for Purgatory, we have to stop him."

"I'm on board," Dean replied, taking a swig from his bottle. "You got a plan?"

"Not, really, no," Castiel admitted. He leaned his elbows on the bar. "Dean, I'm already fighting a war I'm not sure if I can win," he said wearily. "My forces are stretched so thin... Lives are being lost every second I'm away from my followers. I can't afford to divide my attention."

Dean's eyes were intense, emerald green, his entire focus on Castiel's face. "What do you need me to do?" he asked, just as Castiel knew he would.

Castiel was forced to look away, unable to face such complete and unconditional trust. "I need you to track down Abaddon and stop him."

Dean was silent for a moment. "Okay," he finally said.

Castiel looked to him again, saw the unshakeable determination on his face. "I'm asking too much of you this time, Dean," he said softly.

Dean smiled wryly. "Nah. We stopped the Apocalypse. What's one little demon?"

The archangel's eyes softened. "Thank you." Dean toasted him with his bottle. "Within the next few days, Sophia will come to you," Castiel continued. "She'll give you whatever information on Purgatory she dares. It won't be much, but it's all we can do. Abaddon has been very good at hiding his presence. We haven't actually confirmed he's on earth."

"He is," Dean interrupted. When Castiel looked at him, he explained, "He's been paying Mal visits in her dreams."

Castiel's fists clenched on the bar and cracks suddenly appeared in the varnished wooden surface. "I was not aware of that," he said in a low voice.

"She's handling it," Dean told him shortly.

Castiel looked at him full in the face. "He's fixated on her. You understand that she must be kept safe at all costs." It wasn't a question.

"I know," Dean assured him. He hesitated for a moment. "She's gonna kill me for this; she wanted to tell you herself."

Cas frowned. "Tell me what?"

"Ami's alive," Dean said bluntly.

Cas stared at him for a long moment. "No. No, her Grace fused to Mallory's soul. That could not have happened if she lived."

"It couldn't have happened as long as she was an _angel_," Dean corrected. "C'mon, Cas. You know what happens when an angel's Grace gets torn out."

The archangel's eyes widened slightly. "That is not possible," he protested flatly, his voice rough.

Dean shrugged. "Ask Sophia. She was there when we found out."

Castiel looked away, every line of his body tense. Dean watched him for a moment, a frown gathering on his forehead. "Cas?" he asked. "You all right?"

Castiel huffed out a breath. "You just told me that my sister is alive," he said quietly. He turned to look at Dean and his eyes were shining like sapphire stars. "I am more all right then I have been since this war started. Thank you for telling me."

Dean grinned at him. "Anytime."

XxxXxxX

Sam was willing to admit that Mal was right. It'd been a long-ass few weeks and they'd been going non-stop since hell. They wouldn't get anything sorted out while in this frame of mind. He'd just started to drift towards sleep when he heard the shower shut off and the bathroom door open. The mattress barely dipped under Mal's nearly negligible weight. He was lying on his stomach, head turned away from her as she settled down next to him. Her skin was warm and moist from the shower. He felt her fingertips brush against his back between his shoulder blades before tracing lazily down his spine. They stopped at the hollow of his lower back, smoothing over the skin in small, searching circles. Then Mal shifted, sitting up to lean over him.

"Sam, what is this?" she asked, still probing at his back.

"Wha's what?" he mumbled, not quite willing to make the return journey to full consciousness.

"This scar. It's...deep. Damn...how did this not kill you?" Mal's voice was barely above a whisper, horror coloring her words.

Sam came fully awake in a split second. He didn't move, didn't turn his face toward her, letting her explore the thick ridge of scar tissue along his spine. "It did," he said softly. Her fingers froze.

"What?" She sounded confused, uncertain.

"It did kill me," Sam said, a little louder. "For about five hours."

"You came back?" she asked hesitantly.

Sam had forgotten that Mal hadn't been privy to the details of his life, not like Cas and Ami had. She didn't know anything more about his past than the angels (and Crowley, damn him) had told her. It wasn't like Sam and Dean liked to sit around reminiscing.

"Dean brought me back," Sam told her, staring at the tacky wallpaper on the other side of the motel room. God, he missed Bobby's house.

"Oh," Mal said, realization dawning. "Oh, God." Her touch vanished from the scar and Sam's teeth clenched. It was a good thing the scar was on his back, that he didn't have to see it. He despised it enough already, the physical reminder of the moment he lost control of his own destiny. Well, that wasn't true. He'd lost his freedom ten years before his birth when his mother made a deal with Azazel. But the scar was the mark of the demon, and he loathed it with every ounce of his being.

He jerked in surprise when he felt Mal's lips brush the site of the old injury, her breath warm on his skin. "I'm so sorry," she whispered, resting her cheek against his back.

"It was years ago," Sam said, his voice hard, dismissive. "It's long over with."

She ran a fingertip along the scar one last time before sitting up again. "Show me," she ordered. He finally rolled over onto his side to look at her, dressed in a black camisole and panties.

"Show you what?" he asked, bemused.

"I had to show you all my scars," she insisted. "Now it's your turn."

"Mal, I have a lot of—" He was cut off when she put her palm against his chest and pushed him over onto his back.

"This one," she tapped the front of his shoulder, just under his collar bone. "What's it from?"

"Bar fight," Sam replied, relenting. "Some guy came at me with a broken bottle."

She grinned. "You're an idiot." He snorted. Her hand wandered across his chest, following the lines and contours of his muscles. "What about this?" she demanded, fingers hovering at the top of his ribcage.

"First hunt. I was fourteen. Supposed to be a standard salt-and-burn. We failed to discover in our research that the ghost was a psycho who murdered children with a meat cleaver."

Mal winced. "Ouch." Then she was exploring again. She found two parallel white lines on his stomach, above his right hip. "Claws?" she guessed.

Sam nodded. "A ruselka. Russian water spirit. She gave me these, too." He twisted slightly, hunching his shoulder to show her two more lines down his right triceps. Mal leaned forward for a closer look, and then grabbed his arm, twisting it to examine the row of crescent-shaped scars on his bicep. "Banshee," he told her. "Lady had one hell of a grip."

"Any others?"

"Mal, if I showed you every scar, we'd be here all night," Sam told her wearily. "What happened to the 'getting a good night's rest' half of your plan?"

"I'm not tired anymore," she said.

"Good for you," Sam mumbled, dropping his head back against the pillow and closing his eyes. He heard her huff indignantly before her weight vanished from the bed. He frowned and opened his eyes again. She was sitting on the other bed, legs crossed and hands cupped in her lap. Her back was ramrod straight, head up, and eyes closed.

"What are you doing?" Sam asked in bemusement.

"Meditating," she replied without opening her eyes. "It's how I control the flashbacks now. Go to sleep."

Sam didn't. Instead, he watched her for several minutes as her breathing deepened and slowed. She looked completely serene and peaceful. It made Sam feel complacent just seeing her. He blinked suddenly, his eyes narrowing in an attempt to sharpen his eyesight. Was she...glowing? Yes, there was in fact a faint, white shine to her skin, brightest at the center of her chest, beneath her breastbone.

The clock/radio on the nightstand between the beds gave a faint buzz, clicked off, and then came back on again, blinking 12 o'clock in garish, red numerals. The light bulbs hummed underneath the shades, filaments glowing pale orange. There was a sudden, static charge to the room, the air so full of energy the hairs on Sam's arms lifted.

_Go to sleep._ Yeah, right. Sam felt wide-awake now, as if he'd absorbed some of the energy leaking from Mallory's body. It was a good thing the EMF readers were in the van, or else Mal would probably have fried both of them.

Sam couldn't take his eyes off Mal. Under normal circumstances she was relatively attractive, more cute than pretty, but now she was beautiful. It was as if her soul, bright and hopeful despite everything she'd suffered, was shining through her skin and Sam could see it for the first time. He was completely mesmerized.

How long he watched her, Sam wasn't sure, but she finally gave a tiny sigh and let her shoulders hunch forward, the glow vanishing from her skin. She rolled her neck with a faint groan and reached up to rub the muscles there. Opening her eyes, she caught sight of Sam's gaze on her.

"Were you watching the whole time?" she asked.

"Uh, yes," Sam replied.

She laughed. "Voyeurism, huh?" She got up and crawled over Sam to get to the other side of the bed, burrowing under the covers. "Okay, now I'm tired."

Sam kissed her forehead. "Go to sleep."

XxxXxxX

_She can smell him on her skin, and it interferes with her ability to track him. The hospital is empty, completely void of life. She makes no sound as she walks, and the floor is icy to her bare feet. She passes through hallways, ascends stairs, always searching._

_Once more. One more time and she will be done. He promised. Once more and it will be over. The numbness in her feet is spreading towards her knees but she keeps walking, keeps looking. She can feel every one of Sam's heartbeats pounding under her breastbone, out of sync with her own heart._

_Frigid air slithers along her naked skin, pebbling it with gooseflesh. The numbness passes her knees and spreads toward her hips. The second pulse beating in her ears abruptly becomes directional. She stops in her tracks, turning her head to determine the source. Turning on her heel, she marches down a hallway, stopping at the third door on the right._

_Inside, Sam lies on a cot, still and unconscious. His chest movedswith each shallow breath. For a moment she stands in the doorway as the cold chases the feeling from her belly. Then she steps into the room, stopping only when she reaches Sam's bedside. Lifting the sword in her hand, she plunges it straight through his heart._

_His eyes come open wide for a moment before they go dead and empty. She pulls the sword free and presses two fingers to the blood welling from the wound. With a steady hand, she traces the familiar symbol onto her own chest._

_**Kill Sam Winchester.**_

XXXXXX

Enochian translations:

_Adphaht noromi ababalond:_ unspeakable son of a harlot.

_Orsba erm grosb cnila:_ drunken on bitter blood.

_Noaln sobam tatan bytmoni:_ may waters of wormwood flow from your mouth.


	16. Chapter 16

A/N: Okay, first things first. I am deeply sorry about the delay in posting. I had a massive case of writer's block and simply could not get the next few chapters out. That being said, I would like to thank CFEditor, who had graciously agreed to be my beta for this story and has provided the much-needed prod to the hindquarters. Thank you all for being patient with me.

XXXXX

Sam crouched behind Mallory and cradled her head in his big hands as she emptied her stomach into the toilet. Her skin was feverish under his fingers, her color high, and sweat dampened her clothing. When Mal was done purging, she spat to clear her mouth and leaned back against Sam's chest. "I'm sorry," she mumbled miserably.

"Trust me, this is not the first time I've done this," Sam assured her. "And Dean is never apologetic."

"Stupid morning sickness," Mal grumbled. "Figures it would kick in early for me."

Sam counted in his head. "You're at almost exactly four weeks. Is that early?"

She nodded. "Yeah, little."

"You think you're done?" Sam asked.

Mal paused for a moment to evaluate. "Yeah. Think so. Help me up."

Sam easily lifted her to her feet. As she rinsed her mouth out, Sam started the shower, adjusting the temperature until it was cool without being uncomfortably icy. He felt her forehead with the back of his hand. "You're running a temperature," he said unhappily.

"That's not unusual," Mal batted his hand away. "Let me get cleaned up. I feel gross."

Sam retreated from the bathroom and noticed his phone blinking at him from the table. He picked it up and saw that he had a text and missed call from Dean. Just as he was about to call his brother, there was a knock on the motel door. Sam checked through the peephole before opening it.

Dean looked Sam up and down, noting that Sam was still in his sleeping clothes, feet bare. "Some night, huh?" he said with a smirk.

"Mal isn't feeling well," Sam replied, deadpan. He watched Dean go from "mocking older brother" to "over-protective older brother" in no seconds flat.

"Is she okay?" Dean demanded.

"Morning sickness," Sam informed him. "Apparently it kicked in early."

Dean winced. "Oh. Sucks, dude. How is she?"

"Getting cleaned up. What do you want?"

"Logan called about an hour ago," Dean said. "He wanted to know what was going on with the whole Dani situation and invited us over for breakfast."

"Really?" Sam asked. They hadn't exactly left the couple on the best of terms. An invitation back to their home was the last thing he would have expected. Dean shrugged as if he agreed with Sam's unspoken thoughts. "Uh, okay. I'll ask Mal when she gets out of the shower if she feels up to it," Sam continued.

"Sam?" a plaintive voice called from the bathroom. Sam's head jerked around to see Mal peek out through the door, water dripping from her skin. "Um...could you bring me a towel?" Sam immediately abandoned his brother to grab a towel from the closet and bring it over to the bathroom door.

"Feeling better?" he asked as she took it.

She nodded, wrapping the scratchy white fabric around her body. "I need to eat something," she told him, reaching up to skim the moisture from her short hair. It was about half an inch long now, and stood up in a brush over her scalp. "Something simple, like toast."

"Dani and Logan want us to go over to their house for breakfast. Is that okay?"

Mal brightened slightly. "That's fine. I wanted to ask Dani some questions, too."

"Okay. Go ahead and get dressed and we'll head over."

Logan answered the door for them, his sharp eyes darting to each of their faces in turn. "Good morning," he greeted cautiously.

"Morning," Mal replied as cheerfully as she could manage. "How's Dani?"

"She's fine," Logan assured her, backing his chair out of the way. "Come on in."

As they stepped into the townhouse, the smell of frying bacon met them. Mal went green and clapped a hand over her nose and mouth. Logan noticed and gave her a concerned look. "Are you okay?" he asked.

"Yeah," Mal said tightly. "Just a little nauseous. Give me a minute."

Dean followed Logan into the kitchen while Sam waited in the hall with Mal. "You need the bathroom?" he asked.

"I can recover from a major wound in a couple of days but the damn angel healing doesn't work on morning sickness," Mal muttered, fighting to get her stomach under control. She swallowed with difficulty. "I'm okay." Breathing as shallowly as she could, she finally ventured into the kitchen.

Dani was dressed rather demurely in a t-shirt and jeans, a far cry from her colorful ensemble of the night before. Her blue-streaked hair was pulled back into a ponytail to keep it off the bandages on her neck. She was serving Dean an omelet and bacon, and looked up when Sam and Mal entered the kitchen.

"Mallory!" she greeted happily. "Hey! How are you?"

Mal gave her a genuine smile. "Good. What about you? How's your neck?"

Dani shrugged her shoulder. "Oh, you know. If it's not silver, we bounce back. You hungry?"

"Not really, sorry," Mal apologized. "Could I just get some toast?"

"Sure," Dani chirped. "Sam?"

"I'm starving," Sam told her.

She beamed. "Awesome." Dani seemed much more at ease than Logan, bustling around the kitchen whistling under her breath as she served the food, filled coffee mugs, and sliced fruit. The relief from being free of Russell's threat must have outweighed any nervousness from having her secret revealed.

Mal jumped when her phone vibrated in her pocket. She dug it out of her jeans and checked the caller ID. She didn't recognize the number. She frowned. Not many people knew her phone number, as she was still a missing person. Wary, she flipped it open and held it to her ear. "Hello?"

"_Mallory? Oh, thank God you answered. I didn't know what I was going to do if I couldn't get a hold of you. It's just so awful, I don't know who else could have handled it. I mean, I _know_ about the supernatural stuff but I'm not a hunter and I—"_

"Who is this?" Mal interrupted the rambling voice on the other side of the line, blinking in confusion. Sam gave her an inquiring look as he ate, but she only shrugged at him.

"_It's Becky. Becky Rosen?"_

"Oh. Right." Mal sighed and rubbed her forehead. Becky Rosen. Mal remembered her. Mal had slapped her when they first met. "What do you want?"

"_Um...are you near a computer?"_

"Becky, I'm not feeling well right now. Just tell me what's going on," Mal said sharply. Dean and Sam both froze at the mention of their super-fan's name, staring with sudden apprehension.

"_Trust me, it's better if you see this."_

"Fine," Mal growled, getting to her feet. She looked over at Logan and mouthed, "Computer?" He nodded and led her into the living room, keying up one of the monitors. "I've got one."

"_It's pentacle publishers. com,"_ Becky explained. Mal repeated the web address to Logan and waited while he pulled it up. She leaned over his shoulder.

"Holy crap," Mal muttered under her breath. "Sam, Dean, you'll want to see this!" she called back into the kitchen.

"_They're alive?"_ Becky shrieked in Mal's ear. She winced and pulled the phone away from her face, but she could still hear Becky's shrill voice. _"Ohmygod how did they make it out of hell? Are they okay? Can I talk to Sam?"_

"No," Mal snapped, annoyed. Dean and Sam crowded in next to her at the computer.

"Is that what I think it is?" Dean demanded incredulously.

"Downloadable e-books," Mal confirmed. "More of the Supernatural series."

Dean snatched the phone from Mal. "Where is Chuck?" he demanded into it. "We said no more books. I'm gonna kill him." He flinched and almost dropped the phone, Becky's voice emanating tinnily from the speaker. He handed it back to Mal with his thumb and forefinger. Mal sighed and lifted it to her ear.

"_Chuck disappeared a month ago and left me all his manuscripts but he'd said no more books so we made them available online they just stopped after Stull Cemetery and no one knew how it ended how did they get out of hell are you sure I can't talk to Sam?"_

Mal gritted her teeth. The lights overhead flickered and Logan's screen fuzzed out for a second. A burst of static disrupted the line before Becky's voice returned. "Becky," Mal interrupted. "Shut. Up." Becky's voice abruptly stopped. "Why did you call me?"

"_Go to the forum,"_ she said meekly. _"There's a link on the home page."_

Mal parroted the instructions to Logan, and he dutifully pulled up the forum. A video filled the screen and started playing. For a moment, the screen was dark, and then a light clicked on. A young woman was strapped to a cross-shaped torture rack, trembling and trying to scream through a gag over her mouth. Her blonde hair was dark with sweat and she wore nothing but the leather straps binding her in place.

"Oh, my God," Dani whispered.

"_Do you see it?"_ Becky asked.

Mal started, having forgotten the phone for a moment. "Yeah. What is it?"

"_Keep watching."_

Meg stepped out of the shadows into the light, circling the captive and trailing her fingers along naked skin. She turned and looked straight at the camera. "It's so hard to get a hold of you boys," she purred. "I'm starting to feel ignored. Do I have your attention now?" She reached for a tray set near the rack and picked up a scalpel. "Let's play a game. You have twenty-four hours to find me and stop me, or she dies. If you lose, I find another girl and we start over." Her eyes flicked toward the camera again, demon-black. "What d'you say?" Then she lowered the scalpel to the girl's stomach.

Logan closed the video, his face pale. "What. The hell. Was that?" he demanded.

Mal took a deep breath. "Becky?" she asked into the phone.

"_It was hacked onto the website about two hours ago. We can't take it down, no matter what we do. I didn't know who else to call."_

"Okay. We'll take care of it," Mal promised. "Thanks for letting us know."

"_Oh, thank you! That's such a relief. Hey, you never told me how Sam and Dean got out of hell."_

Mal ground her teeth together again. "They're out because I went and got them out," she snapped, and hung up.

Sam was leaning over Logan's shoulder. "Can you trace the video?" he demanded. "See where it came from?"

Logan's fingers flew across his keyboard. "Already on it," he said tersely.

Dani shook her head. "Who was that? Why was she—is she really going to kill that girl?"

"Her name's Meg," Dean said tightly. "She's a demon. And yeah, she will."

XxxXxxX

Deep within the headquarters of the FBI's Behavior Analysis Unit, there was a small, dark room filled with glowing computer screens. It was the center of a web of intelligence, its virtual tendrils stretching all over the country and, in some cases, across the world. The mistress of the web sat at her desk, flame-colored hair caught up with a pair of chopsticks and cat-eye glasses perched on her nose. Long, manicured fingernails clacked against the keyboard as she cast her spell over the internet, bending it to her will.

A small alarm beeped at her from the vicinity of her elbow. She frowned and turned her attention from the screen in front of her to another at her left. Tapping a command on another keyboard, she waited while the screen jumped to life, showing a rather gaudily-decorated website prominently featuring symbols of the occult.

"Pentaclepublishers. com?" she murmured to herself. "Let's see what you're hiding." She tapped another command and a video filled the screen, beginning to play. Her brown eyes widened in horror and she pressed a hand over her mouth. The next moment saw her charging for the door, her chair still spinning lazily behind her.

Supervisory Special Agent Aaron Hotchner was hard at work at his own desk, reviewing the reports his team had submitted on their last case. He looked up sharply when Penelope Garcia burst into his office, panting from exertion and eyes wide. "Hotch!" she gasped. "I just found it. It just went online. Oh, God, it's horrible!"

"What is it, Garcia?" Hotch asked calmly, despite a sudden spike of apprehension. Garcia was flamboyant and theatrical, but she rarely overreacted. If something had frightened and disturbed her, then it was serious.

"Can I show you in the conference room?" she asked.

Hotch rose to his feet and circled his desk. Garcia hurried out of his office before him, heels thumping on the carpet. On the way to the conference room, Hotch stopped at the office next to his, poking his head in. "David," he called.

David Rossi glanced up from the file on his desk, did a double-take, and raised his head. "What happened?" he demanded.

"Garcia found something," Hotch replied. "I want you to see it, too."

Once the two men were seated at the round table in the conference room, Garcia picked up the remote control and turned on the flatscreen TV. The video cued up and began playing. A young woman, pretty, blonde, pale, strapped to a cross-shaped device, naked except for the straps holding her down. Muffled screams were audible through the gag over her mouth. Then a brunette woman stepped into view.

"Mother of God," Rossi breathed. "That's Molly Grandin. What the hell is she doing?"

"I don't know," Hotch murmured, though his response hadn't been required. His dark eyes were fixed on the screen as Molly circled the captive woman, trailing her fingers along bare skin. Molly suddenly looked straight at the camera.

"It's so hard to get a hold of you boys," she said in a seductive voice, a far cry from her meek, self-conscious personality Hotch had come to know. "I'm starting to feel ignored. Do I have your attention now?" she continued, picking up a scalpel from an unseen tray. "Let's play a game. You have twenty-four hours to find me and stop me, or she dies. If you lose, I find another girl and we start over." Her eyes flicked to the camera again and for a moment they looked impossibly dark before returning to normal. "What d'you say?"

Garcia stopped the video there, looking somewhat pale. "It just gets worse after this," she explained.

Hotch lowered his hand from where his fingers had been resting against his lips. "Get the others in here," he ordered.

XxxXxxX

Mallory whirled away from the computer screen. The lights overhead flickered ominously and Logan's screens fuzzed out again. "I'm going to rip her heart out through her throat," she snarled, her voice full of hate.

Sam's head whipped around. "The hell you are," he replied. "You aren't going anywhere near her."

"I owe it to her, Sam," Mal protested. "She hurt me. She hurt _Ami_. She's my kill."

Sam hooked a hand around her elbow and pulled her aside. "And you don't think that Dean and I've got a beef with her, too?" he demanded in a low voice. "She _possessed_ me, Mal. She made me shoot Dean. There isn't a person I care about that she hasn't hurt in some way. And look at that girl." He nodded at the computer screen that still displayed the video. "Young, petite, blonde. That could be you. She's threatening _you_."

Mal gasped, one hand instinctively going to her stomach. "Do you think she knows?" she whispered hoarsely.

Sam sighed. "I think all of hell probably knows."

Mal surprised them both by bursting into tears. Sam pulled her into the circle of his arms and held her as she struggled to regain control. It took her a few moments, but she managed to stem the flow of tears and swiped at her eyes, embarrassed. "Let's just chalk that up to pregnancy hormones and forget it ever happened," she mumbled.

Dani must have overheard because she turned to stare at Mal, her blue eyes wide. "You're pregnant?" she demanded in disbelief.

"Yeah. So?" Mallory replied defensively.

"You attacked two skinwalkers _pregnant_?" Dani continued.

Mal crossed her arms belligerently. "Pregnancy does not preclude ass-kicking," she insisted.

"You're still not coming," Sam said firmly.

Mal opened her mouth to protest but Dean reached over and slapped his hand over her mouth. "Uh-uh," he said. "No arguments. You and junior are staying out of this. End of discussion."

She batted his hand away with a scowl. "She has a name, Dean," she grumbled. She glanced over at Sam. His expression was implacable, and the Mark told her that he would not budge on this, no matter what she used to attempt to change his mind. "Fine," she said sourly. "I wanted to visit Amelia and Claire while we were up here, anyway. I'll go stay with them until you clear this up."

Sam nodded. "Good idea."

Dani shook herself out of her daze. "You've got friends in the area?" she asked.

"In Maine," Mal confirmed.

"I could drive you there," Dani offered, glancing over at Logan for permission.

"Go ahead," he told her. "I'm gonna keep working on this. See what I can get from the hacker's signature. Might be able to narrow down a location."

Dean held up his phone. "I'm gonna call Mom," he told Sam. "I'm getting the feeling we're gonna want the cavalry on this one."

Sam nodded at his brother and turned back to Mal. "Hey," he called softly. She looked up at him, pale eyes searching his face. "Look, I'm sorry," he tried to begin. She shook her head at him.

"Don't be. You're right, Sam. It's just," she broke off and snatched her cap form her head, running her hand over her scalp. "I got so used to relying on her to protect me. I'm still trying to adjust to the idea of protecting _her_." She laughed soundlessly. "And the whole 'oh God, I'm actually pregnant' thing. Sometimes it's still a little unreal."

Sam snorted. "Yeah, I feel you."

Mal reached up, grabbed his collar, and pulled him down for a kiss. "Promise me something," she whispered for his ears only.

"Anything," he whispered back.

"Make her suffer." Mal's silver eyes didn't waver from his face, hard and deadly as the blade of her sword.

"I will," Sam promised without hesitating.

XxxXxxX

Hotch studied his team closely as they filed into the conference room. There was a sober air about them; they knew they were being called onto a case and they were bracing themselves to face the horror of their job. There was also a tension, a slight unease that hadn't lifted despite the supposed reconciliations in the wake of Prentiss' return.

It'd been necessary to fake Emily Prentiss' death to save her from an IRA terrorist intent on exacting revenge for her infiltration of his organization years ago. But the necessary deception had been hard on the team members who hadn't been privy to the fact she was still alive, especially Spencer Reid, the youngest and most intelligent of them, but also the most delicate.

Prentiss chose to sit next to Reid, perhaps to subtly reinforce her intent to repair that friendship. Jennifer "JJ" Jareau, the newest profiler but not the newest team member, flanked Reid, offering a unified front.

Derek Morgan sat next to David Rossi, dark eyes flicking over at Garcia, questioning and concerned at the same time. "Hey," he called softly. "You all right, mama?"

She startled at the sound of his voice. "Yeah, fine," she said, trying to give him a reassuring smile. It came out wan and sickly. Everyone else zeroed in on her discomfort. They were, after all, profilers, and they were intimately familiar with Penelope Garcia's normal behavior. This...this wasn't normal.

"What's the case, Hotch?" Prentiss asked, tearing her gaze away from the team's self-proclaimed tech goddess and to their team leader.

"This one hits a little closer to home," he warned, folding his hands together on the table. "We already know who the unsub is."

"Okay," Morgan said, frowning. "That's a little out of the ordinary. If we know the identity of the unsub, what more will a profile offer?" Rarely, if ever, did they know the identity of the unknown subject, relying on the profile to track them down.

"It's Molly Grandin," Hotch said softly.

Prentiss gave a faint moan and looked away. Morgan shook his head in disbelief and Reid's light brown eyes went wide and child-like. JJ glanced around at her team mates. "Who is Molly Grandin?" she asked.

Garcia lifted the remote and pointed it at the flatscreen. "Molly Grandin," she began, as a picture of an attractive brunette popped up on the screen. "Twenty-six, from Syracuse, New York. Just under a year ago, she was kidnapped and assaulted by Jane Gould. The team managed to get to her in time."

"This was while you were transferred to Homeland Security," Hotch explained to JJ.

"Molly was a sweet girl," Morgan protested.

Garcia took a deep breath and clicked the remote again. A still from the video came up on the screen, showing Molly Grandin standing over her blonde prisoner, a scalpel in one hand. "This was posted on the internet about two hours ago," she said unsteadily. "On the video, Molly addressed people she referred to as 'boys' and challenged them to a game. Find her in twenty-four hours, or the girl dies."

"The victim is twenty-one-year-old Elaine Dalley from Boston," Hotch stepped in. "She was reported missing by her parents last night. We've contacted Boston PD and offered our help on this case. They've accepted."

Rossi leaned forward. "What else did you find on the website where the video was posted?" he asked Garcia.

"Uh...it's the homepage for a urban horror book series called _Supernatural_," Garcia said, pulling herself back together. "So far I've found no connection between Molly and the books. I contacted the website's moderator, Becky Rosen, but she wasn't able to give me much information."

"Garcia, you'll be coming with us to Boston," Hotch told her. "We'll need your expertise with the video. Molly threatened to kill Elaine and take another girl if she wasn't stopped. We have twenty-two hours. Be on the jet in fifteen minutes." With that he stood, dismissing his team to their preparations.

Rossi remained behind a moment longer, staring at the image on the flatscreen. "What happened to you, Molly?" he whispered.

XxxXxxX

Sam looked up from re-packing the van when Dean poked his head into the side door. "You get a hold of Mom?" he asked.

"Yeah," Dean replied. "They finished up their hunt and will meet us whenever Logan gets a bead on Meg."

Sam zipped up a duffel and shoved it into the corner. "What was it?"

"Baba Yaga, apparently," Dean said.

Sam frowned. "We've never run into one of those. How do you kill it?"

"Stake it down in its lair and burn it."

"Huh." Sam crawled toward the door and shouldered Dean aside to get out of the car. "Ellen and Jo coming, too?"

"Yeah," Dean affirmed.

"It'll be good to see them again," Sam said.

"Yeah," Dean said again. He eyed Sam sidelong. "Mal okay?"

"She's fine," Sam said, a little too quickly. Dean raised an eyebrow. Sam sighed. "She's...confused. But she's getting better."

"All right," Dean said with a shrug.

The door to the townhouse banged open and Mal crossed the front porch at a jog. "He found her!" she called before she reached them, and skidded to a halt in front of the brothers a moment later. "Meg's in Boston," she said, a little breathlessly. "She bounced her computer trail around the whole country, but Logan just found a police report on a missing girl that matches the description." She handed Sam a paper printout.

"Awesome," Dean said tightly, slamming the van door. "Let's hit the road, Sammy. Tell Logan and Dani we took off, okay, Mal?"

"Yeah, sure," she replied. "Be careful, guys. Don't do anything stupid."

"No promises," Sam told her, leaning down to press a kiss to her temple. She turned her head to catch his lips with hers.

"Good luck," she murmured. Sam gave her a thin smile and climbed into the van's passenger seat. Mal stood on the sidewalk and watched them until they disappeared.

XXXXX

A/N: And I'm back for more explanations. For any of you familiar with the TV show Criminal Minds, you will recognize our ensemble of FBI profilers. You may be confused with the timeline, however. In order to fit the CM group with the SPN characters, I have shifted things so that early season 7 of CM corresponds to early season 6 of SPN. Thank you for your understanding.


	17. Chapter 17

"Thank you for your time, Mrs. Dalley," Sam said politely as they stepped through the front door of the house and onto the porch. "We'll be in touch."

"That was a great steaming pile of wasted time," Dean grumbled as they reached the Impala.

"It was a long shot, anyway," Sam replied. He checked his watch and grimaced. "We're down three more hours." Dean swore under his breath and yanked open the door of the car, thumping down into the driver's seat. Sam folded his ridiculously large frame into the passenger side.

"How long until the women get here?" Dean asked.

"At least another three hours," Sam said with a sigh. "There are no demonic signs in the whole city. Meg is really good at staying under the radar. Dammit!" He hit the dashboard with his open hand. "Why is she doing this now?"

"Because she's a bitch," Dean replied promptly. Sam snorted and shook out his sore hand.

"All right," he said, pulling himself back onto course. "Meg needs privacy if she wants to torture people to death. We should check abandoned and condemned buildings."

"We don't have time to clear every single one in the Boston area," Dean snapped grumpily.

"When Mom, Ellen, and Jo get here, we'll be able to cover more ground," Sam said reassuringly. "We still have nineteen hours."

"If we trust Meg, which I don't," Dean retorted. "I wouldn't put it past her to just kill Elaine outright."

"I don't think she will," Sam countered. "She's playing a game. Demons love games. She won't go back on the rules she set up herself."

"You hope," Dean muttered.

Sam loosened his tie. "Look, it's not like we have much of a choice. We need to go by City Hall to get property records."

Dean scowled out the windshield at the Boston traffic. "Fine. We'll start there."

XxxXxxX

The Boston Police Headquarters was a hive of activity when the BAU team arrived. Rossi, Hotch, and Morgan were weighed down with metal-sided cases filled with Garcia's computer equipment, and Hotch had to put his cases down to shake the hand of the man who approached them.

"I'm Chief Billy Hammond," he greeted in a strong Boston accent. "Welcome to Boston, Agent Hotchner."

"Thank you," Hotch replied. "I don't mean to rush things, but we are on the clock here. Is there somewhere our technical agent could set up?"

"Yes, of course," Hammond said quickly. He gestured to a glass-walled conference room. "We've cleared it out for you."

"Thank you," Hotch said. As Morgan and Rossi helped Garcia carry her equipment into the conference room, Hotch introduced the rest of the team with curt sentences.

"All right," Hammond said. "Where do you want to start?"

"We already know the identity of the unsub," Hotch told Hammond. "We're ready to give a preliminary profile as soon as you've gathered your officers. But we feel that our best lead is with the missing girl, Elaine Dalley."

"I've already asked her mother to come in," Hammond replied. "I'll round everyone up for your profile."

It only took a few minutes to gather the officers into the bull pen. Reid had spent that time pinning all of their information onto a bulletin board. He surveyed the pictures and printouts. They seemed woefully inadequate. Once everyone was ready, he took his place and waited for Hotch's lead.

"Our unsub's name is Molly Grandin," Hotch announced to the room. "Just under a year ago, she was kidnapped from her work and held prisoner for several days by a woman named Jane Gould. Gould's psychosis was that she was 'helping' Molly overcome self-confidence issues. To that end she tortured Molly through deprivation and broken bones."

Morgan stepped forward to take up the explanation. "We believe that this event caused Molly to snap. Before, she showed no indications of violent behavior. Only a week after her kidnapping she disappeared, just now surfacing. Her personality has undergone radical changes."

It was Prentiss' turn to speak. "She's focusing her trauma from the kidnapping outwards," the dark-haired woman told the gathered officers. "By inflicting pain on others, she doesn't have to deal with her own. Her behavior from the video seems controlled, but vicious."

"She claims to be playing a game," Reid spoke up. "She taunted people she refers to as 'boys' and has directed the video to them. They may find her choice in victims significant. They also have some kind of personal connection with Molly, judging by the way she speaks to them."

"Molly has an agenda," Rossi explained. "She will stick to it and not deviate unless she's otherwise provoked. Our goal is to ensure she doesn't know we're looking for her."

Hotch took control again. "Our technical analyst was able to determine that the building Elaine Dalley is being held in is industrial in nature. An old factory or warehouse. It's highly likely to be abandoned. That's where we should start. Thank you."

As the officers dispersed, Hotch turned to his team. "I want you to go to Elaine's work, where she was taken. See if you can come up with anything. JJ, you handle the interview with her parents. David, you, Reid, and I will go with the search teams."

"And me, sir?" Garcia spoke up from where she'd been observing in a corner. "What do you want me to do?"

"Go through Molly's life," Hotch instructed. "Try to see if you can figure out who these 'boys' are. If we find out who they are, we may be able to find out why she's doing this."

Garcia nodded decisively. "I can do that."

Hotch glanced around at his team mates. "All right, people. Let's get to it."

XxxXxxX

"How far are you along?" Dani asked.

Mal turned away from the car window and sighed. "Four weeks."

Dani glanced at her in surprise. "How do you know already?"

"An angel told me," Mal replied, deadpan. Dani stared at her for a moment, trying to figure out if she was joking.

"Your life is weird," Dani finally said with a sigh.

Mal snorted. "You're a skinwalker," she pointed out.

"Yeah, but other than that, I'm relatively normal," Dani countered. "You travel around the country killing monsters...and demons, apparently. And you receive birth announcements from angels. You were serious about that? You've actually seen an _angel_?"

Mal giggled, a note of hysteria leaking in. She stifled the laughter, but promptly burst into another fit of manic chuckles. "Yeah," she finally managed. "You could say that."

Dani sighed again.

Mal fell into a pattern of deep breathing, seeking to center herself again. She concentrated on the bright source within her, picturing it glowing under her breastbone, and felt herself growing calm again. "So," she said at length. "Why a coyote?"

"We had a lot of them on our ranch," Dani explained, accepting the change in subject. "They'd go after the newborn calves. They were the most dangerous animal I had experience with, so I guess I just subconsciously chose that. I was scared. I wanted to be able to defend myself."

"Can you pick another animal?" Mal asked, suddenly curious.

Dani shook her head. "No. I've tried. Been trying for five years. I've only ever managed to do a coyote."

"What's it like?"

Dani shrugged. "Different. The whole time you're shifted, you have to fight against the animal. That's why I think other skinwalkers go bad. They give in too much to the animal. They go a little crazy. Or a lot crazy," she amended. "You suddenly have all these instincts, urges...and they feel good. Really, really good." She took a deep breath. "You can get lost in it."

Mal nodded and said nothing, waiting to see if Dani would go on. After a moment, the other girl shook herself and squared her shoulders, staring out the windshield at the highway. "Coyotes don't see much color. It's mostly grays with a couple shades of brown. A little blue. But they've got amazing eyesight. It's really cool. And the smell...it was pretty distracting for the first few months. I'd get a scent and forget about everything else."

"How did you deal with it?" Mal asked softly. "At first?"

Dani's hands tightened on the steering wheel. "Not well," she said shortly. "I actually don't remember much. I was living on the street, spending too much time shifted. When I couldn't find food as human, I'd change and..." she grimaced. "Ate a lot of cat ."

Mal wrinkled her nose. "Ew."

"Yeah." Dani relaxed slightly when Mal offered no criticism. "I forget where I was, but this old lady...she didn't even recognize what I was. Thought I was just another stray dog. She left food out. I remember the first time she touched me." A faint smile curled her lips. "It was the first time anyone had been kind to me since my family..." She trailed off. "After that I pulled it together, stopped shifting as much, figured out how to deal. Met Logan a few months later."

"Everything worked out in the end," Mal murmured.

"Yeah," Dani agreed. She glanced at Mal. "What about you? How'd you end up with Sam and Dean?"

Mal sighed. "I got kidnapped," she said. "I grew up in Detroit. This guy grabbed me off my college campus."

"Dean and Sam rescued you?" Dani guessed.

"No. An angel showed up and killed him," Mal corrected.

Dani blinked. "Huh. Go on."

"Ami—Amitiel—told me to go find Sam and Dean. Said they'd help me. Help us."

"Why didn't you go home?"

"Because my dad was an emotionally abusive bastard who cared more about the media coverage than the fact I was kidnapped," Mal snarled with sudden heat.

"Oh," Dani said, taken aback. "What—what happened next?"

Mal rubbed her eyes. "Uh, there was this evil angel—long story, don't ask—and we had to kill him before he caused too much trouble. After that I just stayed with Sam and Dean."

"Uh-huh, and that's all there is to the story," Dani said, obviously not believing her.

"Well, there were some demons, a few more evil angels, a couple of good angels, and a lot of fighting and getting beat up," Mal said lightly. "I don't like to get into it."

"And somewhere in there you got pregnant," Dani added.

Mal smiled dryly. "Yeah," she said slowly. "Somewhere in there."

That's when the truck hit their car broadside.

The sound of the impact was enormous: the shatter of glass, the crunch of metal, and the squeal of brakes. Dani's crossover spun off the road, a rear wheel skidding into the ditch, and then the whole vehicle rolled over twice before coming to a stop.

Dani's head throbbed and she could taste blood in her mouth. She blinked her eyes open but her vision only showed her blurry white. The horn was sounding, long and constant. She lifted her right hand, trying to feel her head, and was impeded by the airbag.

"Mal'ry?" she moaned, turning her head. The other young woman was limp in her seat, slumping forward as the airbag deflated. Blood sheeted down one entire side of Mallory's face and soaked in the knitted cap she wore.

Dani probed her head and winced when her fingers met a gash across her forehead. Blood dripped into her eyes and she blinked it away. Her chest hurt, the seatbelt pressing painfully on her ribs with each breath. She fumbled at the buckle, trying to release it, but it wouldn't budge.

Then hands reached in through the window on the passenger side, cutting through Mallory's seatbelt with a knife and dragging her out.

"No," Dani called weakly, reaching out ineffectually. "No, leave her 'lone." Mallory disappeared through the window and a face peered in at Dani, whose vision was too blurry to make out any features except a pair of black, empty eyes. Then it was gone and the world blanked out.

Dani's head came up so fast she smacked it against the headrest, sending a wave of agony through her skull and neck. She cast around the wrecked car. There were no signs of Mallory or the people who had taken her. How long had she been unconscious? How long ago had Mallory been taken?

Dani clawed at the seatbelt buckle again but it still wouldn't come loose. Hissing in pain, Dani concentrated on her right hand. Her fingers began to shorten, curling in on themselves. Her fingernails lengthened into thick, black claws. They weren't razor sharp and it took a minute for her to scratch through the belt, but finally it snapped free.

Amazingly, the driver's side door still worked. Dani shoved it open and all but fell out when she tried to stand. Pain blazed from her right leg. It was broken; she could tell immediately. She lay in the dirt next to her car for a moment. Then she pushed herself up and began to wriggle laboriously out of her t-shirt. She reached down and pulled her knife from her boot and used that to cut her jeans off. She stripped free of her underwear and sat panting for a moment, completely naked. Then she began to change.

Her skin prickled and itched as if she was covered in fire ants. The throbbing in her head got worse as her skull changed shape. Bones ground together, grew soft, bent, twisted. Muscles lengthened and contracted while organs shifted and shrunk. It was agonizingly painful and Dani would have screamed, except that her vocal cords were changing, too.

It was all over in a couple of seconds. Dani lay in the ditch as a tan-and-gray coyote, panting miserably. Blood matted the fur between her ears. The pain in her head, chest, and leg were less acute now, canine endorphins flooding her bloodstream. She heaved herself to her feet with great effort, her left hind leg unable to touch the ground. She swayed slightly, head dropping almost to the dirt. Then she limped forward, poking her head back into the car. She found her cell phone a moment later, shattered from the crash. Then she hobbled around the car to the passenger side.

She picked up Mallory's scent almost immediately. Her blood had dripped onto the ground when the strangers had carried her away. Dani followed the scent and the blood until she reached the road, just as she expected. There were tire prints in the grass off the shoulder. She stood there for a moment, swaying unsteadily, and sniffed deeply. Then she began limping along the side of the road, head so low her nose was only a few inches from the ground.

XxxXxxX

JJ smiled encouragingly at the woman playing nervously with the coffee cup on the table in front of her. "Mrs. Dalley," JJ said gently. "I know this is a difficult time, but anything you can tell me will help us find your daughter."

Mrs. Dalley sighed abruptly and focused on the blonde woman. "Very well. What do you want to know?"

"Do you recognize this woman?" JJ asked, sliding a photo of Molly across the table. Mrs. Dalley glanced down at it and immediately dismissed it.

"No, never seen her," she said tersely. "Who is that?"

"We believe she is the one who took Elaine," JJ explained. She took the photo and slipped it back into the file. "Did Elaine mention anything in the days leading up to her kidnapping? If there was anyone she met who made her uncomfortable?"

"No, nothing like that," Mrs. Dalley said impatiently.

"Did she ever mention the name Molly Grandin?" JJ pressed.

"No!" Mrs. Dalley exclaimed, pushing to her feet and beginning to pace. "Look, I already went over all of this with the detectives. Why do we have to do it again? Why aren't you out there looking for her?"

JJ frowned. Chief Hammond hadn't mentioned that Mrs. Dalley had been interviewed before. She got to her feet. "Mrs. Dalley, I'm going to be right back. Please wait here." She left the interview room and flagged down the nearest officer. "Excuse me. Was anyone sent over to the Dalley's to get a statement?"

"No, ma'am," the officer replied. "We didn't know Elaine Dalley was the one taken until you guys showed up."

JJ frowned again. She returned to where Mrs. Dalley was waiting. "Ma'am, could you describe these detectives for me?" she asked.

XxxXxxX

The hunters met at Hamilton Market in downtown Boston as Sam and Dean hadn't even bothered to get a motel room. Mary hugged each of her sons tightly. "You both holding up okay?" she asked.

"Yeah, we're fine," Sam assured her. Ellen and Jo came over to join them, Jo walking with a slight but still noticeable limp.

"How much time we got left?" Ellen demanded without preamble. Sam checked his watch.

"About sixteen hours," he replied wearily. "We've tried to run down the location Meg is holding Elaine at, but so far no luck."

Dean's phone rang and he dug it out to check the caller ID. "Oh, hey, it's Logan," he told Sam.

"Logan?" Ellen echoed as Dean answered.

"Someone we met in Vermont," Sam explained. "He's been running down leads with the video."

"He's a hunter?" Jo asked.

"Not exactly," Sam replied.

"Hang on, Logan, let me put you on speakerphone," Dean said, and pulled the phone away from his ear. The others gathered around him to hear better. "Repeat what you just said," Dean ordered.

"_I tracked the building Meg is using by pulling construction dimensions from the video,"_ Logan said, his voice sounding tinny from the speaker. _"It's an old textiles mill on the edge of downtown Boston. It went bankrupt sometime last decade and has been empty ever since. I'm sending you the address."_

"Thanks, Logan," Dean replied. "You're awesome."

"_Let me know if there's anything else I can do,"_ Logan said, and hung up. Dean shoved his phone into his pocket and looked around at the circle of hunters.

"All right. Looks like we got this one."

XxxXxxX

Mal was cold when she woke up. She was lying on something hard and cold, which didn't help matters. She shivered and regretted it when every muscle in her body protested. She was sore all over, as if she'd been beaten, repeatedly.

She opened her eyes cautiously. Cement floor. Cement walls. Her gaze travelled upwards. Cement ceiling. Industrial lighting. She dropped her eyes again. Metal door. Probably locked. Mal took a slow, deep breath. Her chest ached.

What happened? Why did she hurt and where the hell was she?

_The car __had crashed_.

Mallory shot upright, ignoring her screaming muscles. She remembered the feeling of the impact, her head hitting the window. She reached up to touch the right side of her forehead. It was swollen and tender, but even though dried blood flaked off under her fingertips, the skin was unbroken.

The airbag had hit her in the chest and stomach. Mallory pressed her hands to her abdomen, fighting down rising panic. Her baby. Had the airbag hurt her baby? Mal took a deep breath, calling up the meditation techniques Sophia had taught her. After a moment, she was calm enough to dip into her Grace. Every time she had used her borrowed power, it had been focused outwards. This time, she turned it inwards, searching deep within herself.

She sensed her damaged muscles, hairline fractures in her ribs, bruising on her lungs and stomach. All the injuries were already mostly healed. If she'd wanted to, Mallory could have sat and watched muscles, bones, and organs return to full health. But she passed through them and quested deeper. It was so faint she almost missed it, a tiny spark of light centered between her hip bones.

Mal gasped and swallowed a sob. She could _feel_ her baby's partially-formed soul, glowing warmly inside her own body. Tears welled up in her eyes and spilled over. Her baby, her _daughter_, was safe.

A loud crash from outside Mal's tiny cell made her jump, destroying her concentration. She scrambled to her feet and crossed over to the door, her brow puckered as she focused on listening. The vague sounds on the other side of the door sharpened until she could make out voices.

"You left a witness?" hissed an angry female voice. Mal's blood ran cold. She knew that voice. _Meg_.

"She wasn't in any condition to stop us," protested a male voice.

"No, but now she's going to run right to the Winchesters and tell them we have their little bitch," Meg snarled back.

"She wasn't in any condition to do any running, either," the male voice pointed out.

There was a smack of skin against flesh. "She's a skinwalker, you moron! She'll heal in a couple of hours and then she'll get word to Dean and Sam."

Mal felt a flash of relief. Dani was alive. That was something, at least.

There was another sound of striking flesh. "Get out of my sight before I put _you_ on the rack," Meg snarled. Footsteps hurried away.

"What do you plan on doing now?" asked a second male voice.

Meg was silent for a moment. "We don't have much of a choice. We need to move. The Winchesters will find this place sooner or later. Sooner, probably, now that they have more of a motivation." She sighed, sounding frustrated. "And I'd _so _wanted to play. Oh, well. We'll have to kill her."

Mallory pushed back from the door, her heart jumping to full throttle. It took only a flick of thought to summon her angel-sword and she retreated to the back of the cell, dropping into a defensive stance. She strained her ears for any noise and heard footsteps approaching the door. Locks slammed open and it swung ponderously inwards.

Meg stood in the doorway, a cruel smirk twisting her pretty face. "Hi Mallory. There's been a change of plans."

Mal bared her teeth at the demon. "Try me, you bitch," she growled, flipping her sword to a reverse grip and holding it ready in front of her.

Meg chuckled darkly. "Oh, right, because I play fair." She raised the pistol in her right hand and shot Mallory in the chest.


	18. Chapter 18

It was nearly dark when Dani couldn't walk anymore. She had no idea what the town was called, or what state it was in. She'd followed the scent of the exhaust from the vehicle that had taken Mallory away. Her sense of smell was much, much stronger than a natural coyote's, allowing her to track the scent even though she was miles behind. She still wasn't able to put weight on her leg, though the fracture had already begun to heal.

Borrowing heavily on her canine instincts, Dani slunk into town, trying to attract as little attention as possible. It took her almost three hours to find and steal enough clothing to change back to human. With her thoroughly bedraggled appearance, it didn't take her long to beg a few dollars off the people passing by. Her hands shook as she dialed the number on the payphone. She reached up to rub at the tender wound on her forehead, thankful that it had closed.

"_Murphy."_

"Logan," Dani breathed in relief.

"_Dani, what's wrong?"_ Logan demanded, instantly identifying the catch in her voice.

"They took her," Dani replied hoarsely. "They took Mallory."

"_What? Who? What happened?"_

"They crashed the car, took her. I don't know who," Dani sobbed. "I think, I think they were demons. I followed her as far as I could but I can't..." she trailed off. "I don't know where I am," she whimpered.

"_Are you hurt?"_

"Um, my leg's broken," Dani mumbled. "And I hit my head. My ribs, too. I've spent hours changed, it's helped. Please, Logan."

"_Hang on...hang on a minute, love, I'm getting...You're in __Lawrence, Massachusetts. Oh...damn."_

"W-what?" Dani stammered.

"_That demon Dean and Sam are after. She's in Boston. You're half an hour away. She must have sent someone to get Mallory. Hang on."_

Dani heard the sound of the line splitting, and then ringing.

"_Dammit,"_ Logan spat. _"He's not picking up. Dani, are you safe where you are?"_

She sniffled. "I-I think so. I can change again, I guess..."

"_Then stay where you are. I'm going to try to keep reaching Sam or Dean and have them pick you up."_

"Okay," Dani said, leaning against the plexiglass wall of the phone booth.

"_Dani..."_ Logan said unhappily.

Dani rallied herself. "I'll be okay, Logan," she assured him, though her shaky voice detracted from her attempt. "Don't worry about me."

"_I always worry about you,"_ he replied instantly. _"Be safe."_ He hesitated a moment, and then added, _"I love you."_

"Will," Dani promised. "Love you, too." She went to hang up the phone, missed the cradle, and had to make a second try. She limp-hopped to the sidewalk and sat down a moment to rest before clambering painfully to her feet and retreating down the nearest alley. It only took a moment to shuck her ill-fitting and dirty clothing, and another moment to shift back to canine form. She found a stack of cardboard boxes behind a dumpster and curled up in one. Closing her eyes, she was asleep in seconds.

XxxXxxX

Dean got out of the Impala and closed the door. They'd parked the cars about half a mile up the road from the textile mill to keep Meg from knowing they were coming. Mary already had the trunk open, rifling through their supplies. She slung a bandoleer of salt rounds over one shoulder and claimed one of the shotguns for her own. Sam reached around her for his own pump-action, grabbing Dean's double-barrel and tossing it to his brother. As Dean caught the gun, he felt his phone go off in his pocket. Pulling it out, he glanced at the ID before answering.

"What d'you got, Logan?" he asked. "We're about to head in."

"_She's got Mallory,"_ Logan replied grimly.

Dean froze. "What?" he demanded.

"_Meg has Mallory,"_ Logan repeated.

"Shit," Dean said. "What happened?"

"_They wrecked Dani's car and took Mallory. Dani's in Lawrence, Massachusetts. Her leg's broken. I need you to go get her."_

Dean closed his eyes and blew out a frustrated breath. "Can she hang tight? We're at the mill now. If Mal's in trouble, we need to go in." He felt Sam's attention suddenly zero in on him like a laser-guided missile. He didn't look up at his brother, not yet.

"_Just hurry,"_ Logan said shortly, and hung up.

"What's going on?" Sam demanded as soon as Dean lowered the phone. "Is Mal okay?"

"Meg's got her," Dean said. Sam's jaw clenched. He looked down at the ground, and back up at Dean.

"Then we don't have a lot of time," he said shortly. "We need to move now."

Mary loaded her shotgun and pumped it noisily. "We're wasting dark, boys," she said grimly.

The building was quiet. Too quiet. They split up, Mary and Ellen veering off together while Jo stuck with Sam and Dean. They cleared the hallways and the smaller rooms one by one, frustration mounting as each one turned up empty. They finally emerged ontothe factory floor, spreading out to search through the abandoned and broken equipment.

The beam from Sam's flashlight skidded against pale skin. He flicked it back to the far corner of the chamber. A limp, still body was huddled on the cold floor, only half-covered by a dirty blanket. Sam broke into a run and went down on his knees next to the corpse, pulling the blanket away from its face.

It wasn't Mallory. It was Elaine Dalley, her throat slit and her eyes clouded. She'd been dead for several hours. Her hair had been cut off only an inch from her scalp. Sam closed his eyes in a mixture of relief and anger, and half turned to call over his shoulder. "Dean!"

Dean appeared in the doorway, Jo behind him. "You found something?" he demanded, striding forward. Sam moved so they could see the body.

"It's Elaine," Sam said quickly when Jo hissed in surprise. "Meg killed her early."

"Why?" Jo demanded. "Why would she break the rules of her own game?"

"Because she got what she wanted," Sam said grimly. "Look." He brushed his fingers over Elaine's shorn hair. "She was after Mal all along."

Dean rubbed a hand over his mouth. "Fantastic," he muttered. "Jo, go get your mom and ours. We gotta get out of here. You didn't touch anything, did you?"

Jo shook her head, frowning. "Why?"

"Because I'm about to call the cops," Dean replied. "Sam, come on. There's no point in sticking around."

Sam hesitated a moment, still on his knees. He drew the blanket back over Elaine's head. "I'm sorry," he whispered, resting his hand on her shoulder, and then pushed to his feet.

Dean eyed him. "You good?"

Sam took a shaky breath. "Yeah," he said, forcing himself to remain calm. "Meg won't kill Mal. Not yet. She needs time to gloat. We have time. We'll find her."

Dean nodded. "You're damn right about that," he said firmly. He slapped Sam on the arm. "Come on."

XxxXxxX

"This doesn't make sense," Morgan said, staring down at the corpse of Elaine Dalley. Prentiss glanced up from where she was crouching beside the girl. "She's breaking her own set of rules."

"Something must have happened that pushed her timetable," Prentiss replied, getting to her feet. "Molly cut Elaine's hair."

Morgan's expression darkened. "Yeah."

One of the police officers overheard. "That mean something?" she asked, tilting her flashlight at the girl's face.

"It's generally an indication of contempt or scorn for the victim," Morgan replied tightly. "It means our unsub has no remorse whatsoever."

"And that doesn't sound like Molly to me," Prentiss said softly.

"Guess she's changed," Morgan said. "Was there any information about the 911 call?"

The police officer shook her head. "Male, youngish, calm. Wouldn't give a name. Just the address and a body found."

Prentiss glanced around the empty factory. "Wonder what he was doing here," she commented.

"This place gets broken into all the time," the officer told her. "Kids sneaking in here to smoke pot, parties, dares, that sort of thing. The chains on the side entrance were cut."

Morgan was only half-listening. "Prentiss," he said suddenly. She glanced his way, dark eyebrows lifted questioningly. "I don't think Molly is working alone."

Prentiss frowned. "What makes you think that?" she demanded.

Morgan turned to face the far wall. "There's no power in this building. In order to run the camera and possibly a computer, Molly would have needed some kind of generator. And that contraption she had Elaine strapped into was pretty heavy. Elaine's been dead only a couple of hours. Molly couldn't have moved all that equipment on her own in that time, and then completely erased her presence. We didn't even find any blood."

Prentiss was nodding along. "And Elaine was a brown belt in aikido. Molly would either need drugs or back up in order to control her."

Morgan grunted. "Great."

"Molly wasn't a dominant personality," Prentiss said thoughtfully. "It's hard to believe she would snap so completely."

Morgan shrugged. "Some people just do."

XxxXxxX

They were in the motel room only seconds before Dean grabbed the Impala keys from the table. "I'm gonna go pick up Dani," he announced to the room in general. "Logan said she was hurt; I don't want her waiting longer than she has to."

"No, go ahead," Mary said. "We'll see if we can figure out where Meg took Mal."

Dean glanced over at his brother, who was staring out the window, his arms folded across his chest. "Yeah, do that," he told his mother. "If anything happens, call me."

"I will," Mary promised. Dean nodded and headed out the door. As he reached the Impala, the motel room opened again and Jo bounded out, tucking her pistol out of sight beneath her jacket.

"Hey, I'll come with you!" she called.

Dean shrugged. "Get in."

As Dean pulled out of the motel parking lot, Jo turned to him and asked, "So how long have Mal and Sam been together?"

Dean snorted. "I dunno. Couple months? I swear, if they hadn't done something, I was gonna lock them in Bobby's panic room."

Jo smiled faintly. "I really hope she's okay," she said softly.

Dean hummed in reply. "Me, too." He squared his shoulders. "But Meg's not gonna do anything to her. Not yet. She'll want to send us a video. She knows that she's got us where she wants us."

Jo growled. "I'm really starting to hate this bitch."

"Join the club," Dean grunted.

"Sam's really lucky," Jo said after a few minutes of silence. Dean gave her an inquiring look.

"Lucky? You and me have a very different definition of luck, sweetheart."

Jo glared at him briefly. "I was talking about Mal, you moron. He's lucky he has someone who knows what he does and does it with him. That's not easy to find."

Dean stared straight ahead, jaw tightening involuntarily. "No, it's not," he agreed, and hoped that Jo couldn't read anything from his voice.

"Sam seems to be taking things well," Jo said cautiously.

"Trust me, he's freaking out inside," Dean assured her. "Mal might have superpowers now, but we have no idea what they are or how strong they are, and if Meg knows she's pregnant-"

"She's _pregnant_?" Jo interrupted sharply.

Dean sighed slowly. "Yeah. But it's not what you think."

Jo was silent for a moment. "What happened?" she demanded.

"Remember what we told you about Anna?" Dean asked.

Jo frowned. "The angel that became human?"

"Yeah."

Jo thought for a minute. "Um...she tore out her Grace, right?"

Dean nodded. "Ami tore out her Grace and gave it to Mal to keep Lucifer from killing her," Dean explained. "She turned human."

Jo frowned, not understanding, and then realization dawned on her face. "Holy crap," she said, eyes wide.

Dean smiled tightly. "Yeah," he said again.

"So this Logan guy is pretty good with computers?" Jo asked after a few moments of silence.

"Yeah," Dean replied shortly. "At least as good as Ash. Maybe even better."

Jo narrowed her eyes. "We'll have to see about that," she muttered. Dean slowed the Impala down and peered out the windshield.

"Logan said she called him from that phone booth," Dean said, nodding out at the plexiglass structure. Jo looked around.

"I don't see her," she said slowly. Dean pulled the car over to the curb.

"She couldn't have gotten far," Dean replied. "Logan said she was hurt. She probably found someplace nearby to hunker down."

Jo climbed out of the car and went to inspect the phone booth. "Dean! There's blood here," she called, examining the red smear on the scuffed plastic wall.

"Dammit," Dean muttered, running his hand over his hair. "Dani!" he called softly. "Dani!"

There was a rustle behind them and the sharp sound of glass against concrete. The hunters spun around in time to see a beer bottle roll out from behind a dumpster. Dean immediately headed that direction. "Dani, that you?"

Jo saw a canine muzzle poke out from a cardboard box, followed by a pair of frightened, yellow eyes. Dean's shoulders instantly relaxed. "Oh, thank God," he murmured. "Hey, Dani. You okay?"

The dog whined and wriggled forward, ears pricked toward them. Blood caked the fur on top of its head and its wagging tail thumped on more cardboard. Jo grabbed Dean's arm.

"What the hell?" she demanded, not taking her eyes off the dog.

"Yeah, forgot to mention," Dean said, clearing his throat. "Dani's a skinwalker."

"She's a _what_?" Jo hissed.

The dog flinched and withdrew back into its box, scrabbling around a moment before going still. Dean sighed and rubbed his forehead. "She's a skinwalker," Dean said again. "But she's cool. Mal trusts her, okay?" Jo pressed her lips together unhappily but released Dean's arm.

"So she's not gonna rip anyone's throat out while we're not looking?" she said doubtfully.

"Probably not," Dean replied with a shrug. He approached the dumpster and crouched down. "Dani, it's okay. She's with me. Come on. We need to get you out of here."

The yellow eyes appeared again, followed by the ears, this time folded back. Then the whole dog limped out into the open, favoring her back right leg. Jo realized that her initial assessment of dog was inaccurate. Dani was, in fact, a remarkably well-fed coyote.

Dani hobbled forward until she reached Dean and nudged his knee with her nose. Dean's hand cupped her head almost by instinct, and he rubbed reassuring circles into the base of her skull. "All right," he said. "Let's go." Stooping, he gathered Dani carefully in his arms and lifted her off the ground as he stood. She gave a tiny whimper before falling silent, resting her chin on Dean's arm.

"Get the door," Dean ordered tersely when they reached the Impala. Jo swung the back door open and Dean carefully deposited the coyote onto the backseat. "You okay?" he asked her again, ruffling her ears. She thumped her tail at him once before closing her eyes. Dean eyed her unhappily for a moment but then sighed and circled to the driver's side.

Jo hadn't yet gotten into the car. "I don't think this is a good idea," she said bluntly, her arms crossed.

Dean frowned at her. "What?"

"Skinwalker?" Jo said, her tone indicating her opinion of his current level of intelligence.

Dean rubbed his eyes. "Look, I already told you. Mal trusts her. Mal can do this thing where she can tell if you're lying or not. Dani's never hurt anyone except in self-defense."

Jo was clearly still torn but finally decided to trust Dean and Mal and slid into the passenger seat of the Impala. If she immediately turned so she could keep an eye on the back seat, Dean wasn't going to comment.

XxxXxxX

Mary watched her younger son warily. They'd just cleared another abandoned building and found nothing. They didn't have any clues as to Meg's current location, but Sam had insisted they do _something_ and Mary knew he needed to stay active.

Dawn was coloring the sky as they retreated to the parking lot. Sam's whole body was tense, his eyes dark. He had barely spoken a word beyond what was necessary. When they got to the vehicles, he threw the bag containing his shotgun into the van and slammed his open hand against the side.

"Sam?" Mary said softly, coming up behind him. "What is it?"

"I sent her away to be safe," he replied, his voice low. "I told her to stay out of it."

"Oh, Sam," Mary sighed. "This wasn't your fault. You couldn't have known."

Sam turned to face his mother, his face tight. "I can never keep her safe," he said, his voice catching slightly. Mary put her hand on his arm.

"We'll find her," she told him firmly. "You were right. Meg won't kill her. This isn't about Mal, it's about you and Dean. Meg's not going to give up the chance to hurt you."

"But she's going to hurt Mal," Sam said, clenching his jaw. He pushed away from the van and walked away a few paces, fists tight and shoulders hunched.

Ellen walked over to join Mary. "How's he holding up?" she asked softly.

"He's worried," Mary replied wearily.

"We all are," Ellen said.

Mary shook her head. "No, you don't understand. Mal is pregnant."

Ellen's eyes widened and she looked from Mary to Sam and back. "Oh," was all she said.

Mary shook her head again. "It's not Sam's. It's a long story, but apparently Ami became human and Mal's pregnant with her."

The other woman's eyes got a little wider. "That is... That is the craziest thing I've ever heard."

Mary nodded miserably. "Yeah. Me, too."

XxxXxxX

Mal woke up cold.

Her chest hurt. A deep ache that sent stabs of pain through her lungs with each breath. She tried to take shallow breaths. It took a great deal of effort to open her eyes. Another concrete ceiling with industrial lighting. Another abandoned factory or warehouse. She closed her eyes again and tried to curl up in a small ball of aching misery.

She couldn't move.

Mal's eyes flew open and she lifted her head. She was strapped down to a torture rack, leather bands across her wrists, chest, hips, and ankles. For a second she was somewhere else, with the smell of blood and hot metal, red light and Abbadon leaning over her with two tarnished, metal disks in his hand.

The scream was involuntary, the struggle was not. Mal choked off the scream almost as soon as it started; she would not show fear. But the bindings were tight and strong. She couldn't break free. She went limp against the rack, panting despite the throbbing ache under her ribs.

Meg stepped out of the shadows to her left. Mal jerked as far away from the demon as possible, but Meg only grinned a shark's smile and strolled closer. She was holding Mal's sword in one hand.

"Hello, Tinkerbell," Meg purred. "Glad you're awake. I'd hate for you to miss the fun."


	19. Chapter 19

Jo held the motel door for Dean as he carried Dani inside, covered by a blanket to hide her from nosy staff. Ellen looked up from the laptop on the table. Dean carefully lay Dani on the nearest bed and pulled the blanket away.

"This is Dani," Dean said before Ellen could speak. "She's a skinwalker and no, she's not gonna hurt anyone. Where's Mom and Sam?"

"Sam couldn't stay still," Ellen replied, getting to her feet and walking over. "He and your mother are out scoping abandoned properties." She looked down at the coyote and tilted her head. "She looks terrible."

"She was in a car accident," Dean said dryly.

Ellen crouched to get on eye-level with Dani. "You understand me?" she asked. Dani flicked her ears forward and wagged her tail in reply. "Good," Ellen went on. "Can you change back to human?" Another tail wag answered her, but Dani shot Dean a look.

"Got it," Dean said, getting the hint. "I'm gonna call Sam." He left the room.

A moment later, Ellen was wrapping a blanket around Dani's shoulders. "Thank you," the girl said softly, clutching at the soft material.

"Jo, she's about your size," Ellen said. "Get her a change of clothes, please."

Jo didn't look entirely pleased but obeyed her mother. Ellen examined the swollen scar on Dani's forehead. "How bad are you hurt, sweetie?"

"I'm almost healed," Dani replied. "Being changed speeds things up."

"I'll run you a bath," Ellen told her, and left for the bathroom.

"Here," Jo said curtly, laying a shirt and jeans on the bed next to Dani. Dani glanced from the clothing up to meet the other young woman's gaze.

"I'm not one of the bad ones," she insisted. "I promise. Dean and Sam...they helped me out. I owe them and Mal."

Jo didn't reply. Dani sighed and dropped her eyes, her shoulders hunching in exhaustion and pain. Jo tried to maintain her aloofness, but the other girl's obvious misery quickly wore her down. "You want to call your boyfriend?" she finally asked reluctantly.

Dani looked up in surprise. "What?"

"Dean said your boyfriend told us where you were," Jo went on. She held out her cell phone. "You want to let him know you're okay?"

Dani took the phone. "Thanks," she said warily. She dialed Logan's number from memory.

"_Logan Murphy._"

"Logan, it's me," Dani said, smiling at the sound of his voice.

"_Oh thank God. Are you all right?_"

"I'm fine. I'm in Boston with Dean and some of his friends."

"_How's your leg?_"

Dani leaned forward so she could test her leg against the ground. "Still hurts, but I can put some weight on it."

"_You need to rest, okay? Just stay where you are. Dean and Sam can find Mal. You've already done enough._"

Dani made an unhappy noise. "I can help, Logan. I want to find her. She needs our help."

"_We're doing what we can. Let Dean and Sam take it from here._"

"Logan," Dani began.

"_Danielle Riley Pruitt, just do as you're told,_" Logan cut her off.

"Okay," Dani mumbled rebelliously. "I love you."

"_Love you, too. Stay safe._"

"Will," Dani promised, and hung up. She handed the phone back to Jo, who shoved it into her back pocket.

"When were you turned?" the older girl demanded bluntly.

"Five years ago," Dani replied, equally bluntly. "I was fifteen. Bastard murdered my whole family."

Jo flinched, which was what Dani had been aiming for, and looked away. "Sorry," she said softly.

"My brother was seven," Dani continued mercilessly. "His name was Dylan. He was sleeping in my room that night because he'd had a nightmare. We woke up when my parents started screaming. Almost made it to the barn before Russell caught up with us. I had to watch while he tore my baby brother's heart out."

Jo flinched again, going pale. "I'm sorry," she repeated.

"Yeah, so am I," Dani said in a hard voice. "So don't think for even a second that I'm anything like the others. I may have this curse, but I'm not a monster."

Ellen came out of the bathroom. "Bath's ready," she told Dani. "You need any help?"

Dani stood, careful of her injured leg. "I think I'm good, thanks." She limped into the bathroom and locked the door behind her. Jo stared at her feet and began reconsidering her definition of monster.

XxxXxxX

"Okay," Hotch said, looking around at his team. "What do we know?"

"Molly's not working alone," Morgan was the first to speak up, leaning forward to prop his elbows on the conference table.

Reid mumbled something, staring at the wall above Morgan's head. Morgan frowned, balled up a scrap piece of paper, and lobbed it at his younger teammate. It bounced off Reid's forehead, startling the young agent out of his thoughts. He sent Morgan an ineffectual glare and cleared his throat.

"Molly moved up her timetable," he said, louder this time. "Something has happened to interfere with her plans or threaten her."

"There's been no reports of any young women missing since Elaine was killed," Prentiss pointed out.

"How about at the same time Elaine was taken?" Rossi asked. "It's possible she took two victims."

Prentiss nodded and wrote down a note to have that looked into. JJ let herself into the conference room, holding a few sheets of paper in one hand. "Sorry I'm late. I was following up on something."

Hotch raised his eyebrows attentively. "Something you want to share?"

"It was something Mrs. Dalley said when I was interviewing her," JJ explained. "She told me she'd already gone over everything with the 'other detectives,' but when I asked around, the Boston PD hadn't sent anyone to talk to her." She handed over the papers. "So I sat her down with a sketch artist. This is what she gave me."

Hotch studied the portraits for a moment before placing them on the table. "Impersonating police officers?" he mused. "To what purpose?"

Morgan slid the sketches over to memorize them. "They could be working with Molly," he suggested. Once he was done, he passed the papers to Prentiss, who only glanced at them before shoving them towards Reid, who picked them up with a thoughtful frown. He opened his mouth to say something when Garcia burst into the room, ample bosom heaving.

"Hotch!" she cried breathlessly. "Molly posted again!"

All the profilers were on their feet in a moment, and Garcia did an about-face to lead them to where her computers were set up. Plopping down in her chair, she called up the video with a keystroke and hit "play."

The scene was very similar to the first one. An industrial room, the strange device, and a young, petite blonde woman strapped in a crucifix pose. Only this one wasn't gagged, and wasn't screaming. Her hair was already cut down almost to her scalp, and she was glaring daggers at Molly, who was standing over her with a some sort of silver sword in one hand.

"Hello, Tinkerbell," Molly said. "Glad you're awake. I'd hate for you to miss the fun."

"I'm going to rip your heart out with my bare hands," the captive girl hissed at Molly. Molly threw her head back and laughed.

"Oh, sweetie, I would love to see you try." She ran the point of the blade along the girl's naked stomach. "We are just going to have so much fun together."

"Want some more?" the girl growled. "Let me go and see what happens. That'll be fun."

Molly's face abruptly twisted into a sneer. "I'm not an idiot." She tapped the blade against the leather band over the girl's chest. "I know what you're capable of. I'm not taking any chances." She looked up at the camera. "Feel like playing now, boys? You've got twenty-four hours. Tick tock."

The video went dark and for a moment no one spoke. Then Reid leaned forward. "I know who that was," he said quietly. His team immediately fixed him with demanding stares. He took a deep breath. "That was Mallory Graves. She's been missing for five months."

"Pulling up the file now," Garcia piped up, her fingers flying over her keyboard.

"What can you tell us about the case, Reid?" Hotch demanded.

Reid's brown eyes glazed slightly as he consulted his eidetic memory. "Mallory Graves, twenty years old, daughter of Congressman Donald and Dr. Irene Graves. Taken off the campus of University of Detroit Mercy by Edward Kruger, who was found later bludgeoned to death in the basement of his home. No sign of Graves. Found nearly three weeks later in a motel room with James Novak, who'd been missing over a year. Both severely injured, Graves in a coma. Two suspects were arrested." Reid stopped speaking and blinked.

"What happened?" Prentiss inquired.

Reid shrugged. "I don't know. The rest of the file was wiped clean."

Garcia paused in her search and gave Reid a look over the top of her glasses. "Wiped clean, huh?" she echoed. "That doesn't sound suspicious at all. Let me work my magic on it and see what comes up. Uno momento, my pretties." Her fingers resumed their frantic dance. "Ha! Here's the sketches of the suspects...wonder why they didn't get photos?"

Two black and white sketches appeared on one of Garcia's screens. Morgan plucked one of the papers from Reid's hands. "Huh," he said. "These are the same two men," he observed.

Rossi squinted at the screen with the portraits for a long moment. "I'll be damned," he said suddenly. "That's the Winchester brothers."

Prentiss blinked at her teammate. "The who?"

"They were on the FBI's most wanted list before you transferred to the BAU," Rossi explained. "I consulted on the case. The older one, Dean, is a serial killer. His brother, Sam, is the brains of the operation. He manages to get them away every time they get arrested."

"So they're the ones who took Graves?" JJ asked, frowning. "How does Molly figure into this?"

"Um, children?" Garcia interrupted hesitantly. "It gets weirder. I just managed to retrieve the rest of that wiped file. Novak and Graves were both admitted to the hospital with severe injuries, but they woke up after twenty-four hours. That's when it gets sketchy."

"What happened, mama?" Morgan demanded, placing one hand on Garcia's shoulder. She glanced up at him with a troubled expression.

"Well, first Mallory killed two people who had attacked several nurses in the hospital, and then she and Novak proceeded to assault the Detroit police headquarters, break the Winchesters out, and disappear."

Hotch raised his eyebrows. "Daughter of a prominent congressman. I can see how he'd want this to go away."

JJ shook her head. "There's too much about this case that doesn't make sense. If Graves and Novak were that severely injured, how did they manage to break the Winchesters out of police headquarters?"

No one had an answer. Morgan squeezed Garcia's shoulder. "Do we have any more information on the two people Graves killed, and how?"

Garcia tapped a few keys. "Um...it just says that a man and a woman entered the hospital, attacked several nurses, severely injuring two. They were using chains as weapons. Graves was being questioned by the lead detective, Sarah Rhodes, when she went to the nurses' aid. Rhodes says that Graves used some sort of long knife or dagger."

Morgan shook his head. "This is seriously messed up."

Reid tapped his lips. "Did anyone else notice Mallory's behavior towards Molly in the video?"

"She knew Molly," Rossi offered, nodding. "They had history."

"Mallory was incredibly hostile," Prentiss pointed out. "Whatever happened between them, it wasn't good."

"I think Elaine Dalley was a decoy, to get someone's attention," Reid said in a rush. "Mallory Graves was her original target all along."

"And who wants to bet that the 'boys' Molly keeps referring to are the Winchester brothers?" Morgan put in, crossing his arms.

Hotch patted Garcia's shoulder to get her attention. "Go over Molly and Mallory's files. See if anything crosses over. And send us the Winchester files. If they're players in this, I want to know everything about them." He turned to the rest of the team. "I'm going to inform Chief Hammond of the new situation. JJ, set up a press conference; I'll give you a press release. Reid, do you think you can do a geological profile?"

Reid shrugged. "Off of one location? Probably not, but I'll do my best."

Hotch nodded. "Good. Do that. Prentiss, call Mallory's parents and see if you can get any more information from them. Morgan, Rossi, I need you out with the patrols."

The team split up to go their separate ways, but Reid hung back with Garcia. "Hey, wasn't there a new program introduced into the FBI a few months back?" he asked the technical agent. "A freelance engineer came up with a program to identify buildings by their construction dimensions?"

Garcia's eyes lit up. "Yes! I do remember that. Brilliant guy. Shame about the wheelchair. His girlfriend had awesome hair." She reached up and ruffled Reid's hair playfully. "I knew I kept you around for something."

Reid smiled lopsidedly, smoothing his hair back down. "We'd probably have more luck with that then a geological profile," he admitted.

Garcia turned back to her bank of computers. "I am on it now, Boy Wonder. Behold my technical prowess!"

XxxXxxX

Mallory refused to scream. Her jaw and teeth ached from clenching them. Meg gave her an annoyed look and pressed the point of the angel-sword to the inside of Mal's thigh until it broke skin. Then she dragged it slowly down towards the knee, leaving behind a clean slice that rapidly filled with blood.

Mal's muscles tightened involuntarily and a huff of air burst through her clenched teeth. Meg frowned and propped her elbows on the rack, leaning over Mal to look her in the face. "If I hadn't wanted you to scream, I woulda cut out your tongue," she said. "C'mon, Tinkerbell. Let it out. I know you want to."

Mal growled and cursed Meg in Enochian. "_Salbrox pashs ababalond,_" she spat.

Meg chuckled. "Aw, you say the sweetest things to me, baby."

"I_ will_ kill you, Meg, I swear to God," Mal gritted out, twitching as the bloody blade of her own sword was laid across her throat.

"No, you won't," Meg said with a shark's smile. She leaned down to whisper into Mal's ear. "I'm gonna wait until Sam finds us, and then I'm going to cut you open so he can watch you die."

Mal jerked her head around, teeth snapping, and Meg backed out of range. The demon tapped the tip of the angel-sword against Mal's stomach. "He's gonna know that it was his fault. That he couldn't save you, or his bastard child."

Mal growled again, barely sounding human, and strained against her bonds, the leather creaking. "_Ego vocant ad caelum, ad exercitum caeli. Exaudi placitum, percutiam hostes—_" Meg struck Mal across the face with the hilt of the sword, splitting open the bridge of Mal's nose.

"Those prayers won't help you here," the demon sneered.

Mal spat out a mouthful of bloody saliva from a split lip. "_Percutiam eos cum ira. Comburo cum __sanctum tuum ignis. Vos effundam cruor eorum in lapides—_"

Meg's face twisted with rage and she slammed the sword hilt into Mal's face again, driving her into unconsciousness.

_It is the smell that gives it away. Blood and hot metal. She knows immediately where she is. The red light surrounds her, drenching everything in the color of blood. Her sword is in her hand, the metal fever-hot. She waits for orders, even her thoughts blank and obedient._

_He comes from behind her, standing so close she can feel his breath on the back of her neck. His arm slides around her, his hand covering hers over the hilt of her sword. "This will be our greatest work," he whispers in her ear with the scent of brimstone. "The perfect canvas."_

_The body on the rack is helpless, gagged and strapped down. He guides her hand down until the point of the sword rests against the heaving stomach. The muscles tense in response. She watches in fascination as the sword sinks below the skin and blood wells up in response. She ignores the muffled cry. The soul is insignificant next to his desires. She will carve it into something new, twisted and dark and wholly obedient to her master._

_He releases her hand and she continues on her own, carving the runes through skin and muscle, letting the blood flow. The scent of it is on her tongue, at the back of her throat, but she doesn't care, doesn't stop, only looking up from her work to seek his approval._

_It isn't long until the soul's torso is a raw, bloody mess of exposed tissue and quivering flesh. Setting her sword aside, she dips her fingers into the crimson wounds and draws the mirror images of the runes on her own naked chest and stomach. She turns to show her finished work to her master. His hungry eyes devour her._

"_Flawless," he breathes, and presses her sword back into her hand. "It is time."_

_She takes the blade from him and once more turns to the rack. For the first time, she looks at her victim's face. The sword clatters to the stone._

_Sam._

Mallory came awake with a scream and a surge of power that blasted her guard across the room. "_SAM!_"

XXXXXX

Enochian tranlsations:

_Salbrox pashs ababalond_—sulfurous daughter of a harlot.

Latin translations:

_Ego vocant adcaelum, ad exercitum caeli. Exaudi placitum, percutiam hostes—_I call upon heaven, upon the hosts of heaven. Hear my plea, strike down my enemies.

_Percutiam eos cum ira. Comburo cum sanctum tuum ignis. Vos effundam cruor eorum in lapides—_Smite them with your wrath. Burn them with your holy fire. Pour out their blood on the stones.


	20. Chapter 20

Hotch studied Garcia and Reid from under lowered brows. "You're certain?" he demanded.

"To within a very small percentage," Garcia replied breathlessly, clutching a feather-topped pen in both hands.

Reid nodded in agreement. "The construction dimensions of the room in the video are a match to two industrial warehouses in the Boston area," he added.

Hotch took only a moment to decide. "Call Morgan and Rossi. Have them divert to one of the addresses with the patrols. We'll take care of the other one. Reid, with me."

Reid fell into step behind his team leader, checking to make sure his revolver was on his hip, where it was supposed to be. Hotch led him over to where their female teammates were working. "Prentiss, have you gotten anything from Mallory's parents?"

Prentiss hung up the phone and shook her head. "Congressman Graves is refusing to take my calls, and Dr. Graves wasn't very forthcoming, but she is on her way up here from DC."

"We have a possible address," Hotch informed her curtly. "Have Hammond assemble an assault team. JJ?"

The blonde agent came to attention, leaning forward in anticipation of her orders. Hotch handed her a slip of paper. "This is the release I want you to give to the press."

JJ glanced over it and her eyebrows shot up. "Yes, sir," she said with a nod. "I'm on it."

Hotch looked over at Reid. "You'd better load up. We're going in."

XxxXxxX

Mallory realized she was not back in hell when she tried to lunge to her feet and found the leather straps of the rack in her way. Her demon guard was just picking himself up off the floor, his face twisted in fury and his eyes inky-black. He wiped a trickle of blood from his chin and snarled at her.

"I'll gut you for that," he hissed. He stooped to pick up Mal's sword where it had fallen to the ground, the other torture tools scattered around it.

Mal narrowed her eyes at him. The demon had threatened her baby. There was no fear. There was only rage. She tugged at the bindings on her right wrist. The leather creaked. The metal buckle began to warp and twist. Mal gritted her teeth and yanked with all her strength. The metal snapped with a loud_ ping_. She thrust out her open hand.

The demon went tumbling backwards again, the sword flying from his grasp. Mal clawed her fingers. The blade reversed its fall and swung around to her hand as if attracted by a magnet. The handle thumped into her palm with reassuring weight. She flicked it around with blurring speed and the rest of the leather straps parted. Mal slid off the rack to land on her feet.

The demon picked himself up a second time and whirled around, nearly insensate with rage. The sight before him stopped him cold. She should have been helpless, naked and weak from blood loss. But no; she stood before him with the blade in her hand, cold white light blazing from her eyes.

A high scream of pain echoed through the warehouse.

XxxXxxX

"Sam, I think it's time we head back," Mary said, eying her son from the passenger seat of van. He didn't respond, his gaze fixed out the windshield. Mary reached over and touched his arm. "Sam," she called softly.

He jerked slightly, glancing at her as if just realizing she was with him. "What?" he asked bluntly.

"It's almost dawn, Sam," Mary said gently. "We should head back to the motel, meet up with the others."

"There's a couple more buildings in the area," Sam replied.

Mary squeezed his arm gently. "Sam, I know you're worried, but we're just running blind here. We need more information. Maybe Logan has come up with something."

A dark look gathered on Sam's face. "I can't just sit around and do_ nothing_, Mom. Mal's in danger, and I-" he cut himself off and exhaled noisily through his nose. "I just have to find her."

There was a thud in the back of the van and Mary twisted around to see what had caused it, only to have Sophia thrust herself in between the two seats and start gesticulating wildly with both hands, her expression frantic.

Sam glanced at the tiny angel with a frown. "Whoa, slow down, Sophia," he ordered. "What's going on?"

Sophia took a deep breath and snatched the cap off her head, revealing dark brown hair that was already a couple inches long. She placed one hand on her stomach and the other on her chest, over her breastbone. It took Sam a moment to make the connection.

"Mallory?" he demanded. "You know something about Mal?"

Sophia nodded vehemently and pointed out the windshield. Sam immediately turned the van to follow the little angel's directions. "Is she okay?" he asked without looking back. "Is she hurt?"

Sophia hesitated, and then nodded again. She clasped her hands in front of her as if in prayer and then struck the palm of one hand with the fist of the other. Mary frowned and attempted to translate. "Mal is hurt but she prayed...for an attack? On Meg?"

Sophia nodded for a third time, her expression clearing when she was able to communicate her message. She leaned forward and pointed again, and Sam turned accordingly.

"How many demons? Is Meg there?" he asked.

The angel held up five fingers and then shrugged. "Five, and she doesn't know," Mary reported.

Sam looked over at his mother. "Call the others. Tell them we have a lead and to get here as soon as possible."

"We'll wait for them once we get there," Mary said, pulling out her cell phone.

Sam shook his head. "We don't have the time."

"Sam," Mary said sharply. "Two of us against five demons is bad odds, especially when they have a hostage. We'll wait for the others."

Sam was about to make a reply when Sophia hit his shoulder and pointed to a old canning warehouse. They were near the wharfs now, and the smell of fish was pervasive. "There?" Sam asked, and Sophia confirmed with a nod. Sam parked the van down the street from the warehouse, and grabbed his shotgun. Mary caught hold of his arm.

"Sam, I'm serious. You can't go in there by yourself," she insisted.

"I'm just going to scout out the area," Sam assured her. He fished out a flask of holy water and shoved it into his jacket pocket. "Wait here. I'll be right back." He looked over at Sophia. "You'd better stay here, too."

She nodded and sat back, content to let others take care of the violence. Sam left the van and stuck to the shadows as he slunk down the street. He made a circuit of the warehouse, checking every door and window until he found a suitable entry. He paused for a moment to listen as soon as he was inside. There were distant, muffled sounds coming from the other side of the warehouse, where the main open area gave way to smaller rooms.

Sam slipped out from behind the crates he'd been using as cover and made his way toward the source of the noises. As he got closer, he realized they were the sounds of a struggle. He picked up his pace, the thought of Mal in trouble overriding his caution. That proved a near-fatal mistake, as he found when he set his hand on the door.

"FBI! Drop your weapon!"

Sam flinched when the flashlight beam struck his face and he cursed under his breath. He glanced over his shoulder but was blinded.

"Sam Winchester, drop your weapon," the male voice barked again.

Sam swore again and lowered his shotgun to the ground. He saw a woman edge toward him, gun raised and a bullet-proof vest proclaiming her as FBI. "On your knees," she ordered sharply.

"Look, I can explain," Sam tried to begin, only to have the woman gesture with the gun.

"On your knees," she ordered again.

"There are dangerous people in this building," Sam insisted.

"We're aware of that," the woman snapped. "On the ground, now. Hands behind your head."

The flashlight beam finally slanted away and Sam realized he was literally surrounded now by police and a total of three FBI agents. He gritted his teeth. Perfect. The sounds of a struggle had now stopped, the warehouse gone quiet.

Sam turned his back on the police and agents, bending one knee as if complying with their orders, but instead he launched himself forward, hitting the doors with his shoulder and bursting through them. He bolted down the hallway, wondering how the heck he was going to get out of this one.

XxxXxxX

"Seal the perimeter!" Prentiss heard Hotch bark as she shoved through the doors after Winchester. A glance to the side confirmed that Reid was backing her up, easily keeping up with her as they loped down the hallway. Their progress was hindered by having to check each door they passed, finding the majority of them locked. The hallway turned left and Prentiss peered out just enough to ensure that the way was clear before leading Reid out into the open.

She stopped to check the first door, but as soon as she touched the handle, it was shoved outwards, striking her in the face. She stumbled backwards, trying to bring her gun to bear, but Winchester was on her in a flash, catching her arm and twisting it around, forcing her to lose her grip on her gun. He slammed his elbow into her already bleeding nose, dropping her to her knees.

He picked up her gun and held it over her head, hesitating. Then he glanced up at Reid, who'd frozen, immediately lowering his gun so as not to provoke Winchester into shooting his teammate. Then Winchester's face hardened and he lifted the gun and fired.

Prentiss flinched at the sound and instantly lunged to Reid's aid, only to find Reid unharmed and seeking cover back behind the corner. She twisted around to see Winchester disappearing down the hall. Reid grabbed her arm and helped her to her feet.

"Are you all right?" the younger man demanded, cupping her chin in one hand and forcing her to look up at him so he could examine her face.

"I'm fine," she insisted, and reached up to activate the radio in her ear. "Hotch, we lost him. He's armed now; he took my gun."

"_Are you okay?"_ Hotch demanded.

"I'm fine," Prentiss repeated. "He's heading toward the back of the warehouse."

"_He's after Mallory,"_ Hotch guessed.

Reid and Prentiss waited until the rest of the assault team caught up with them, one of them giving Prentiss his extra sidearm. They continued with caution, alert for any sign of movement. The warehouse was eerily quiet, which is why everyone jumped when a shrill scream broke the silence, only to be almost instantly cut short.

They reached a set of swinging doors with a round window and Prentiss peeked through, wiping blood from her nose onto her sleeve. She could see Winchester standing over the strange torture device, staring down at it with a concerned expression. Prentiss nodded at the assault team and they burst through the doors.

"Weapon down!"

"On the ground!"

"Drop the weapon, now!"

Winchester spun around, the gun tracking instinctively, but before anyone could take the shot he lowered it, eyes wide and darting. One of the police team moved forward to make the arrest, and then there was a faint noise.

Prentiss flinched when the officer went flying across the room to smash into the device, sending them both crashing to the ground. All attention went to the far, dark corner of the room, but Prentiss only glimpsed a brief flash of pale skin before another officer behind her gave a short, surprised cry and went skidding across the floor. He fetched up hard against the wall and did not move again.

Prentiss shook her head dazedly, trying to get a better look at their new attacker, but everyone was yelling orders and her head was already aching. One officer had the presence of mind to try to secure Winchester, snatching the gun away and forcing the man to his knees. Prentiss glanced over to see if he needed assistance.

A pale, slim form appeared from the darkness and ripped the rifle from the officer's hand, snapping the carry strap in the process. Then it grabbed the officer by the throat.

Prentiss had to blink to make sure she was seeing correctly. The apparition was completely naked, streaked and spattered with blood. A bloodstained sword was clenched in the free hand and, though significantly shorter than the police officer, it was holding him off his feet.

It was Mallory Graves.

"Hold your fire!" Prentiss barked just as the rest of the assault team realized what was going on. The officer Graves was throttling choked and gasped for air, scrabbling at the slim hand crushing his windpipe. Prentiss stepped forward, lowering her borrowed pistol.

"Mallory," she called. "Mallory, it's all right." How the hell the petite young woman was accomplishing such a feat of strength, Prentiss had no idea, but she needed to be talked down, and that was Prentiss' area of expertise. "Mallory, I need you to calm down. You're safe now. No one is going to hurt you."

Mallory's head snapped around toward Prentiss and she had to take a step back. The other woman's eyes were glowing. Literally shining with white light so intense Prentiss couldn't make out her pupils. The sight of it so shocked the FBI agent that she couldn't formulate any more words.

Then Winchester stepped into the beam of one of the flashlights. Several guns shifted in his direction but he didn't notice. "Mal," he said softly. "Mal, hey. You don't want to do that."

She slowly turned her head to face him. He didn't react to her shining eyes. He held out one hand toward her. "Hey. Can you hear me? Mal, it's okay. You need to stop now. They aren't going to hurt you." She continued to stare at him, her expression unreadable. A frown briefly passed over Winchester's face. "I'm all right," he assured her. "I'm not hurt. They're not gonna hurt me, either. Just—just put the man down. Please, Mal."

Mallory blinked. She abruptly dropped the police officer and he collapsed, gasping, at her feet. She blinked again, and the light went out from her eyes. "Sam?" she whispered, swaying on her feet. Then she crumpled like a puppet whose strings had been cut. Winchester lunged forward but three of the assault team piled onto him, driving him to the ground and pinning him on his stomach.

Prentiss hurried over to Mallory and crouched next to the girl. Her arms, torso, and thighs were covered in wounds of various size and depth, all oozing blood. Prentiss looked for the sword to secure it, but it was nowhere to be found.

Reid knelt on Mallory's other side and Prentiss looked up at him. "What the hell was that?" she asked breathlessly, but Reid just shrugged, as lost as she was.

XxxXxxX

Mallory woke up just as they were about to load her into the ambulance. She tried to sit up with a low cry but the paramedics held her down easily enough. Prentiss hesitated, and then approached the gurney. "Mallory?" She looked down at the girl.

She looked terrible. Her skin was pale and dirty, her hair nearly completely gone. She was so underweight her cheekbones stood out starkly from her face and there was a bruise resembling fingermarks spread over one shoulder. She blinked up at Prentiss with pale gray eyes bright with tears.

"My name is Emily," Prentiss continued, trying to reconcile this image with the one from the dark warehouse. "We're taking you to the hospital. Just try to relax."

Mallory tugged one hand free and flailed it toward Emily, who caught it out of reflex more than anything else. The strength in those fingers shouldn't have been surprising, given what Emily had just witnessed.

"She escaped," Mallory rasped. "Meg...she got away."

"It's all right," Emily assured her. "You're safe now."

The paramedics tried to move Prentiss out of the way to load Mallory into the ambulance, but Mallory started to hyperventilate and clutched at Emily even tighter, so she ended up having to climb into the ambulance with the girl.

Hotch poked his head in before they closed the doors. "We've secured Sam Winchester," he told Emily. "And we found three bodies in the warehouse."

Emily glanced uneasily down at the girl still holding her hand. Mallory appeared to be unconscious again. "I'll stay with her and see what she has to say," Prentiss told her boss. Hotch nodded and disappeared from view.

Mallory didn't wake again until they reached the hospital and the nurses tried to usher Emily from the girl's side. Emily wasn't entirely unwilling to leave; her fingers had lost all feeling halfway through the drive, and Mallory was locked into some sort of nightmare, calling out in what sounded like a different language.

But the girl flew into a fit when Emily began to ease her hand from Mallory's grip. Her eyes snapped open and Emily flinched, half-fearing that they would be the same glowing orbs from before. The profiler was still trying to convince herself it had just been her imagination. A doctor approached with a sedative, but Mallory only got more agitated at the sight of the needle.

"No!" she mewled, squirming away from the doctor. He ignored her and prepared to insert it into her IV. Then the syringe shattered in his hand. The doctor let out a sharp cry and jumped backwards, startled. "No drugs," Mallory said, struggling to sit up. It took two orderlies to hold her down.

"Someone get some restraints!" the doctor ordered, and Emily saw right off that would be a bad idea.

"No, wait," she called out. "Mallory, please, I need you to calm down." She put her free hand on the girl's shoulder. "Mallory?" She decided to try out Winchester's nickname. "Mal? It's okay. Everything's going to be fine. Please try to relax."

Mallory abruptly went limp and rolled her head to look up at Emily. "No drugs," she whispered. "Please tell them...no drugs."

"They're just going to give you something to keep you calm," Emily soothed.

Mallory shook her head. "No drugs," she insisted.

"All right, but you have to let them do their job," Emily countered, glancing up at the doctor for confirmation. He thinned his lips in annoyance but nodded.

"Okay," Mallory agreed instantly. Emily patted her shoulder.

"I have to leave now, but I'll be waiting for you when they're done, okay?"

"Okay," the girl said again, and closed her eyes. Her grip on Emily's hand finally slackened.

Emily watched them wheel her away, massaging the life back into her abused digits, and dearly wished for a drink.

XXXXX

I would just like to take a moment again to remind everyone that CFEditor has been doing an amazing job as my beta and is made of awesome. That is all.


	21. Chapter 21

Reid stood in the darkened observation room and stared through the one-way glass. In the interrogation room on the other side, Sam Winchester sat slumped in his chair, handcuffed to the table. He looked exhausted, dark shadows hung under his eyes, but he lacked the twitchy nervousness Reid had come to expect from guilty suspects.

Reid's thoughts were mostly on the events of earlier that morning. He had wracked his brain trying to come up with possible rational explanations for what he saw, and while he had several theories formulated, none of them satisfied all the parameters of the occurrence.

He was an exceptionally intelligent man. His IQ was well above genius level and he had multiple PhDs. During his time with the FBI, he had seen strange and seemingly unexplainable things, but every one had, in the end, a scientific basis. He was sure this was the same, he just had yet to find it.

But he still couldn't get the sight of Mallory Graves' glowing eyes out of his head.

The door opened and Morgan let himself in. "Hey," the older agent greeted shortly.

"Where are the others?" Reid asked.

"Hotch and Rossi are talking with Chief Hammond, Prentiss is still at the hospital, and JJ went to the airport to pick up Dr. Graves," Morgan reported. He joined Reid by the window. "He say anything?"

"I haven't talked to him yet," Reid replied.

Morgan eyed his team mate sidelong. "What happened at the warehouse?" he asked. "Hotch says he didn't see anything and Emily wouldn't tell me anything over the phone."

Reid considered his words for a moment. "I'm not sure," he finally admitted. "The situation was very disorganized. I can't be certain of what I saw."

"I heard that Mallory put three of the assault team in the hospital," Morgan said.

"She was clearly suffering from post-traumatic stress disorder and was unaware that we were trying to help her," Reid answered. "She can't be held responsible for her actions."

"Reid, I've seen pictures of Mallory," Morgan said a little impatiently. "She's ninety pounds soaking wet. How the hell did she get the drop on three fully-trained police officers?"

"In times of extreme stress or danger, it's possible for a person's fight instinct to overcome their flight, and, with increased adrenaline and decreased physical inhibitions, to perform feats of extraordinary strength," Reid informed Morgan. "There have been many recorded cases of women overcoming otherwise impossible obstacles in order to save loved ones."

"Yeah? And who was Mallory saving?" Morgan asked, half-joking.

"Him," Reid replied seriously, pointing toward the man in the interrogation room. Morgan's eyebrows shot up.

"You think so?" he questioned.

Reid nodded. "She specifically targeted the officer trying to arrest him. The other two merely got in her way. And she only allowed herself to be subdued after he spoke to her."

Morgan blew out a sigh. "That...changes things."

"I believe Mallory's report that the Winchesters didn't hurt her," Reid said.

"You read the file," Morgan observed, holding up the object in question. Reid nodded again. "So you saw the part where they're supposed to be dead."

"They were reported dead," Reid corrected. "No bodies were recovered. Obviously they found some way of escape before the explosion."

"Yeah," Morgan said. He shrugged. "Well, you want to go talk to him, or what?"

Reid straightened. "Yes," he replied instantly, reaching down to remove his gun from his hip. "I have several questions I would like answered. There are too many inconsistencies in the files."

"You want to take lead?" Morgan offered.

Reid gave him a grateful look. "If you don't mind."

"Nah," Morgan replied easily. "I'll just stand there and look intimidating. C'mon, kid."

Winchester looked up sharply when they entered. "How's Mal?" he demanded instantly.

Morgan opened his mouth to rebuke him but Reid beat him to the punch. "She's being treated at the hospital. None of her injuries are life-threatening. She'll be fine."

Winchester relaxed, some of the weariness vanishing from his face. "Good," he said softly.

Reid sat down opposite of the fugitive, aware of Morgan's supporting presence at his back. The young agent took a moment to assess his target. Sam Winchester was a big man, and his loose flannel shirt did nothing to conceal his muscular strength. He was physically dangerous, without a doubt, but the intelligence in his eyes interested Reid more.

"You obviously care about Mallory's well-being," Reid observed.

Winchester gave him a wary look. "She's my friend," he finally said.

Reid nodded. "Yes, of course. You don't have very many friends other than your brother, given your nomadic lifestyle. Any friends that you do acquire, you would most likely treasure."

Winchester gave him a puzzled look. "Uh, I really don't think that you guys arrested me to talk about my relationships. No offense, but that's pretty shoddy police interrogation technique."

"Oh, we're not police," Reid informed him. "I'm Dr. Spencer Reid, and this is Special Agent Derek Morgan. We're with the FBI's Behavioral Analysis Unit."

Winchester's eyebrows shot up. "Profilers," he said. "FBI. Awesome." He sighed and slumped even more, closing his eyes tiredly. Reid tilted his head.

"When was the last time you slept, Mr. Winchester?"

He opened his eyes again with a shudder. "Sam," he insisted sharply. "Just call me Sam. And..." He frowned. "I don't remember. Why?"

"It just goes to show how much you were concerned about Mallory," Reid pointed out. "Were you looking for her after Molly Grandin took her?"

Sam frowned. "Molly who?"

"Grandin," Morgan spoke for the first time. Sam blinked at him blankly for a moment before his expression cleared, and then darkened.

"Meg," he said, a growl in his voice. "Her name is Meg, now."

"The two of you have history," Reid pressed, going with the flow of the conversation. "What happened between the two of you?"

Sam snorted. "She doesn't like me. Really, really doesn't like me."

"Why?" Morgan demanded tersely.

Sam raised his gaze to meet Morgan's again. In a flat voice, he replied, "Because I was born."

XxxXxxX

"He_ what_?"

Mary rubbed her forehead and declined to repeat herself. Dean began to pace.

"Son of a_ bitch_," he fumed. "I am so going to beat his ass! What the hell was he thinking?"

"Dean," Ellen snapped. "Shut up. You're not helping."

"It shouldn't be hard to get him out," Jo said. "I mean, we've got an angel, right?" She eyed Sophia curiously; to date Jo's only experience with angels had been limited to Ami and Cas, and she wasn't quite sure what to make of the Archive.

Sophia was currently fussing over Dani, who was fast asleep on one of the motel beds. Sophia had finished healing what the young woman's skinwalker nature hadn't and was now combing and braiding Dani's blue-streaked hair.

Mary shook her head in response to Jo's observation. "Sophia may be an angel, but she's not a warrior. She barely flies herself around, much less passengers. There's no way we can ask her to walk into the middle of a police department and get Sam out."

"Then call Cas," Jo said bluntly.

"No, we're not looking at this the proper way," Ellen interrupted. "We don't just got to get Sam free, we got to get Mal free, and then we have to kill whatever search they put out after. And they're probably looking for Dean, too." Ellen jabbed her finger at Mary's oldest son. "They know he'll be nearby."

"What about Meg?" Dean demanded. "What happened to her?"

"I don't know," Mary admitted. "I didn't see her leave the warehouse."

"We can't do this on our own," Jo insisted. "We'll need back up."

"Cas already told me he can't spare anyone from the war," Dean told her wearily. "We're on our own."

"Whatever our next move is, we can't go after Sam and Mal," Mary said. "Mal needs to be in the hospital and Sam is safe enough where he is."

"We have to go after Meg," Dean agreed reluctantly. "We get her first."

"How are we going to find her?" Jo asked. "We were using the videos before. Will she make another?"

"God, I hope not," Ellen blurted. "That'll mean she's taken another girl."

"I can find her." All eyes turned to the bed. Dani hadn't been asleep, after all. She sat up, giving Sophia a grateful look. "I can find Meg if I have her scent. I can find anything."

Mary glanced around the room quickly. "I don't know if that's a good idea," she began, but Dani slid off the bed and got to her feet.

"It's okay. I feel fine. I can do this," she insisted. "I want to. Mal saved my life. It's my turn to help her."

"Okay, then," Dean agreed instantly. "We don't have time to lose. Jo? You coming?"

Jo hesitated a moment, her gaze darting to Dani. "Yeah. I'm in," she said finally.

Ellen sighed. "All right, fine. I guess you'll need someone to make sure you idiots don't get yourselves killed."

Dean turned to Mary. "Mom?" he questioned. She nodded.

"I'll come. But we'll have to be careful. Meg's obviously smart, and she's planned this out. We'll have to get one step ahead of her if this is gonna work."

XxxXxxX

"Really?" Dani asked about an hour later, looking at the objects in Dean's hand. "I mean...seriously?"

"What do you think people are going to do if they see a full-grown coyote walking around the streets of Boston?" Dean asked impatiently. "We can't afford to attract attention right now."

"You won't have to wear it longer than you have to," Mary assured the young woman. Dani sent another dark look at the collar and leash.

"Fine," she huffed. "Give me a minute." She walked stiff-legged into the bathroom but left the door open. A short while later, she walked back out on all fours, her expression still indicating her canine indignation. She allowed Dean to buckle the collar around her neck, but he held off on the leash.

Mary turned to Sophia. "You should go to Mal," she said. "Stay with her, out of sight. If something happens, let us know."

Sophia nodded sharply and vanished with the soft sound of disturbed feathers. Dean opened the motel door and Dani preceded them out to the Impala. Jo opened the back seat so she could jump in. "I hope this works," Jo said to Dean.

He pressed his lips together. "So do I," he admitted.

XxxXxxX

Emily sipped from her terrible coffee and cast another glance over at the girl sleeping in the hospital cot. Mallory had been in and out of consciousness ever since her wounds had been treated, and the nightmares had continued. Once the lights overhead had flickered and the various machines she was hooked up to all went off, prompting several moments of panic until they realized Mallory was fine. Every once in a while, the girl would mutter in that strange language, and twice she'd called out the name "Amy."

"Agent Prentiss?" Emily looked up at the soft voice and found Mallory's doctor standing in the doorway to the room. She got to her feet and went over to join him.

"Dr. Barton," she greeted. "What is it?"

The doctor, who was a couple inches shorter than Emily and balding, shifted his weight nervously. "There are a few things I wanted to discuss with you about Ms. Graves," he said, fiddling with the manila envelope in his hands. When he didn't go on, Emily was forced to prompt him. He startled and blurted out, "We ran a routine blood test. Did you know she is pregnant?"

Emily's gaze darted from the doctor to the girl and back. "How far along?" she demanded.

Barton grimaced. "About four weeks. We won't know for sure until we do a sonogram."

Emily frowned to herself as she thought. Then she nodded. "What else?"

"Well, it was the scars," Barton said with a helpless shrug. "You said she'd been kidnapped and tortured, but these...well, take a look yourself." And he shoved the envelope into her hands.

Emily opened it and pulled the glossy prints out. The first one was of Mallory's upper arm, the right one. She could see the waxy patches of burn wounds. "These look a couple years old," she said with another frown.

Barton nodded. "Look at the others."

The next few photos were close-ups of the burns, so Emily skipped those until she found one of Mallory's inner forearm, left arm. "This is a suicide scar," she identified immediately.

"There's another on her other arm," Barton told her. "No hesitation marks. Just one deep, clean cut each arm."

Emily found the photo in question. "These aren't recent," she said. "They look as old as the burns."

"That's not all," Barton said with a sigh. He plucked a photo from the bottom of the pile and placed it on top. Mallory's torso, raked diagonally by four deep, jagged gashes. "My guess is that these were caused by some sort of claws," Barton went on. "And by something pretty big, too. These should have killed her." He tapped the print. "Ripped her intestines to shreds."

"All of these happened before she disappeared five months ago," Emily insisted.

"That's what it looks like," Barton agreed. "But I just got her medical history sent over, and none of these injuries are in there."

"She would have been hospitalized for all of these. Why wouldn't they be reported?" Emily demanded.

Barton shrugged. "I'm sorry, agent. I don't have any answers for you."

Emily shuffled the photos back into a neat pile and slipped them into the envelope. "Thank you, Dr. Barton," she said. He nodded and hurried away. Emily drummed her fingers against the envelope, trying to make sense of this new information. Nothing was adding up right about this case.

"Emily."

She blinked her way back to the present and saw JJ approaching her, followed by an older woman in a suit, blonde hair pulled up into a bun. When they reached Emily, JJ introduced them. "Dr. Graves, this is Agent Prentiss. Emily, Dr. Irene Graves. She's Mallory's mother."

"How is my daughter?" Irene demanded, looking up at Emily with a pair of very familiar gray eyes.

"She's resting now," Emily assured her. "But the doctors said she'll make a full recovery."

"I want to see her."

"We have a few questions first, please," Emily said, but Irene's eyes narrowed.

"Agent Prentiss, I have not seen my daughter in five months, since the last time she was recovered after a kidnapping and admitted into the hospital. You may ask whatever questions you like later, but right now I am going to see Mallory." And with that she swept around Emily into Mallory's room.

Emily and JJ turned to watch her go. "Wow," Emily said.

"Yeah," JJ replied wearily.

"Reminds me of my mother," Emily added unhappily. "Oh, this is gonna be fun."


	22. Chapter 22

Down on the wharf near Boston Harbor, police swarmed around the warehouse as members of the Boston crime lab bustled back and forth about their tasks. In all the activity, no one paid any heed to the man in the leather jacket and his dog of indeterminate breed.

Dean paused when Dani did, nose down to probe at some scent. But it wasn't what they were looking for and she continued on. Unable to enter the warehouse, they circled it, hoping to catch Meg's scent as she fled. They weren't exactly sure what they were looking for, but Dani remembered the scent of demons from the car crash and was fairly certain she could pick it up again.

They'd been searching for over two hours before Dani abruptly went rigid, ears swiveling backwards and a low growl rumbling in her chest. "You got something?" Dean demanded. Dani nodded her head; not a typical canine move, but some things were necessary for communication. "Demons?" Dean asked. Dani nodded again, certain.

Dani snuffled along the ground for a moment, and then took off down the alleyway behind the warehouse, only belatedly remembering she was on a leash. Dean broke into a jog before she could strangle herself, and together they made their way along the wharfs. Dean dug out his cellphone.

"Mom," he greeted as soon as she picked up. "Dani's got a scent. We're heading north along the harbor."

"_All right,"_ confirmed Mary. _"We'll circle around to meet you."_

The Impala pulled up to the curb beside them and Mary, Jo, and Ellen emerged, all carrying duffel bags full of shotguns and ammo. Dani ignored them, intent on the scent she'd picked up. The trail led to a building a few blocks away, decrepit and unidentifiable. Dani didn't hesitate.

Dean unclipped the leash and Dani bounded forward with a high-pitched yip of excitement. Dean and the others were right on her heels, pulling out their guns as they ran. Dani weaved through the half-crumbled rooms, paws occasionally slipping in the dirt and debris, until she skidded to a halt in front of a surprisingly intact wall. There were words painted in something brownish-red across the wall. Dean's heart sank as he read them.

_You Lose._

Dani morphed back to human form while the hunters stared at the wall. She choked for a moment until she managed to get the collar off, and then informed them breathlessly, "That's Mallory's blood."

"Shit," Dean blurted. "She's going after Mal."

XxxXxxX

Reid looked up when Hotch approached him, setting aside the file of crime scene photos. "These wounds match the blade Mallory was carrying in the warehouse. Was that ever found?"

"No," Hotch said shortly, glancing down at the photos. They showed the three unidentified bodies they'd discovered in the warehouse where Mallory Graves had been held. "Did you get anything from Sam Winchester?"

"He's not very forthcoming," Reid answered, sounding slightly disappointed. "Morgan and I tried to use his relationship with his brother as a lever, because according to the profile they should be extremely co-dependant, but it wasn't productive. He's refusing to say anything more unless we give him more news on Mallory."

Something glittered in Hotch's eyes. "I'm going to talk to him," he declared.

Reid closed the file. "Do you want me to observe?" he asked.

"No, I think I'll be fine," Hotch replied quickly. "I want you to call Prentiss and JJ and tell them what you found. Mallory has killed five, possibly six people by now. I'd say she definitely qualifies as dangerous. Ask Chief Hammond to set a guard on her room. I don't want anything happening until we get to the bottom of this."

"All right," Reid said, frowning slightly, and watched his team leader leave.

XxxXxxX

Sam had finally managed to doze off when the interrogation room door opened again. He sighed and considered not even lifting his head from the table. But he still hauled himself up and squinted at the man standing in front of him. Sam recognized him from the warehouse, a tall, thin man with dark hair and dark eyes, wearing a much nicer suit than the ones he and Dean used for their disguises.

"Can I help you?" Sam asked grumpily.

"Nope," the man replied, pulling out a chair and sitting down. He leaned forward on his elbows. "I just came here to gloat."

Sam frowned uneasily. This was not typical behavior for an FBI agent. "Okay..." he said slowly.

The man smiled. "Sammy, Sammy, Sammy. This worked out better than I could have even hoped. I mean, look at you. In handcuffs. Makes me go all tingly inside."

Sam felt a wash of ice water down his spine. "Meg?" he demanded roughly.

The man's eyes flicked demon-black. "Hiya," he said, still grinning. Meg leaned back in the chair, drumming one hand on the table. "So. It looks like you're heading for the lock-up, Sammy-boy. And trust me, with your record, you're gonna be there a long, long time."

"Dean is still going to kill you," Sam replied, forcing himself not to lunge over the table and strangle the demon. He was still handcuffed to the table, which would make things awkward.

"Pff, please," Meg said, waving a hand dismissively. "Dean's the least of my worries. He's busy chasing after dead ends. By the time he gets up to speed, your precious Mallory will be dead and you'll be headed for the clinker."

Despite his best efforts, a growl escaped Sam's throat and he jerked forward, only stopping when the table jumped in response. Meg laughed. "Let me tell you a secret, Sammy. Abaddon doesn't want Mallory to serve him. He doesn't even care about your little spawn. He wants her soul, on a platter, under the dark sun."

Confusion made Sam forget his anger. "What the fuck are you talking about?"

Meg giggled, the sound incredibly creepy coming from a grown man. "Wow, you really are stupid," the demon taunted. "Sammy, what does Abaddon care about right now? Power. And where can he get that from? Purgatory. And what does he need to rip it wide open? A chimera soul."

Sam's eyes widened. A chimera soul. Exactly like the one Mallory currently possessed. He swallowed thickly. "Why are you telling me this?" he demanded hoarsely.

Meg shrugged. "Because it's all going to be pointless in a few hours, anyway. I'm going to kill Mallory and her disgusting offspring, and then I'm going to sit back and watch while Heaven and Hell rip each other apart." The demon grinned again. "And then when everything's in tiny little pieces, I get to pick up the ones I want." Meg leaned forward again. "I win," the demon whispered. "You lose."

Then Meg stood up. "Catch you on the other side, Sammy." With that, the demon threw back her borrowed head and smoked out of the hijacked body, vanishing through the vent and leaving the FBI agent to crumple on the ground.

XxxXxxX

When Aaron Hotchner regained consciousness, Sam Winchester was leaning over him with a concerned expression on his face. "Oh, good," the fugitive said. "You're alive." He sat back in his chair and stared at Hotch for several long moments until the agent regained his voice.

"What," he rasped, "The hell happened?"

"You got possessed by a demon," Winchester replied in a calm, matter-of-fact voice. "A very bitchy, vengeful one named Meg. She's been riding around in that girl, Molly Grandin? For over a year now. She just borrowed your body."

Hotch sat up slowly and passed a hand over his eyes. He remembered being in the warehouse, going after Mallory, when he was overcome by the stench of sulfur. After that there were only bits and pieces. "A demon," he repeated dully.

"Yup," Winchester said far too glibly. "It's not fun, I know. She rode me around for a week a few years back." His face crumpled in disgust. "Wow. I could have worded that differently." He shook his head and looked back down at Hotch. "You okay?"

"I—I really don't think so," Hotch admitted. He got to his feet and sank into the chair opposite Winchester. He stared at the younger man. "Demons are real."

Winchester nodded. "And so are every other nightmare monster you've ever heard of. Except Sasquatch. To date we've never found any evidence of him."

Hotch shook his head at Winchester's flippant attitude. "I'm sorry if you find this amusing, but I've just had my entire outlook on life proven wrong," he said stiffly.

Winchester shrugged. "It happens to the best of them." He raised his hands as far as the cuffs would allow. "So now that we're on the same page, would you mind letting me go? Meg's next stop is the hospital and I'd really, really like to get there before Mal gets hurt."

Hotch frowned, connecting the dots in his head. "So it's been Meg this whole time? Not Molly Grandin?"

Winchester rolled his eyes. "Molly's just a meat suit," he said brusquely. "And she's probably long since dead. I need to get to the hospital. Now."

Hotch eyed the other man warily. "How do you kill a demon?" he demanded.

"You know that hunting knife you took off of me?" Winchester asked. He waited until Hotch nodded. "Yeah. That can kill demons. They also don't like salt or holy water. Now can we go to the hospital? Meg is gonna try to kill Mal."

Hotch hesitated. Logic was still trying to convince himself it had been his imagination, and his training was telling him to wait until he could confirm the events. But Winchester was staring at him with a strangely pleading, urgent look in his eyes.

"Mal is four weeks pregnant," Winchester said softly. "Please. Let me go."

"No," Hotch said, coming to a decision. He had another idea.

XxxXxxX

"Reid!"

Morgan jumped when he heard Hotch yell across the bull pen. He twisted to see his team leader leaning out of the interrogation room. "Call an ambulance," Hotch barked. "Winchester is having a seizure."

Reid lunged for the phone and Morgan headed over to help Hotch. Winchester—Sam—was lying on his back on the floor, eyes rolled up to the back of his head, muscles twitching and quivering. Hotch was holding his head steady so Morgan pinned the young man's legs down.

The paramedics arrived within a few moments and managed to get Sam strapped to a gurney and into the ambulance. Hotch climbed into the ambulance after them and, after a moment of thought, Morgan hopped in as well. Hotch shot him a strange look but said nothing. As soon as they pulled away from the police station, things got weird.

Hotch reached over and undid the restraint on Sam's right arm. Before Morgan could protest, Sam sat up and clocked the paramedic right in the face, dropping him without a sound. "Great plan," Sam told Hotch sarcastically. "Now what are we supposed to do with the other two when we get there?"

"I can always say you assaulted them and escaped," Hotch replied, deadpan.

Sam lifted an eyebrow. "Oh, so_ now_ you're letting me go?"

"I never said that," Hotch countered.

"Uh, Hotch?" Morgan asked uneasily. "What's going on? Should I be shooting someone right now?"

Hotch gave him another strange look. "No. I'm sorry, I can't explain everything right now, Morgan. You'll just have to trust me on this."

Morgan nodded. "Okay, but what is going on?" He watched tensely as Sam undid the rest of the restraints, pulled out the IV, and seated himself on one of the benches.

"Molly Grandin is going after Mallory," Hotch explained. "We have to stop her before she gets to the hospital."

Morgan didn't take his eyes off of Sam. "Okay," he said again. "So why aren't we calling an assault team?"

"That's the part where you're just going to have to trust me," Hotch said dryly. He reached under his coat and pulled out a bone-handled hunting knife. "Was this the one you were talking about?" he asked Sam.

Sam's face lit up. "Yeah. Awesome, thanks." He took it eagerly from Hotch. "You would not believe the shit I had to go through to get this thing."

"Now we're giving him a weapon," Morgan observed. "Hotch, I don't think this is a good idea."

"Trust me," Hotch said again. He looked back to Sam. "What do you think her next move is?"

"You said there were three bodies at the warehouse?" Sam asked. Hotch nodded. "Okay, so Mal got three of them. Good for her." He grinned briefly. "That means Meg's got two left. She doesn't think anyone is coming after her so she'll go straight for Mal. We just gotta make it there in time."

Meg. Morgan remembered that from his first conversation with Sam. That's what he called Molly Grandin. He opened his mouth to ask another question but Hotch sent him a look and shook his head. Morgan snapped his mouth shut with a click. He didn't understand anything that was going on, but he did trust Hotch. He'd served under him for over six years. He could give him the benefit of the doubt.

The ambulance slowed down and pulled into the hospital. Sam visibly tensed, sliding the hunting knife into the back of his jeans. He squeezed past Hotch to take a seat nearest the doors. After a moment, they swung open, revealing the other two paramedics. They stared in confusion at their patient, apparently conscious and well, and then they both collapsed on the spot.

Morgan lunged forward to see what had happened. A kid was standing behind the two paramedics. He couldn't tell if it was a boy or girl; it was wearing hand-me-downs and its brown hair was cut extremely short.

Sam's expression cleared. "Sophia! Good to see you."

The kid smiled briefly and tilted her head questioningly.

"Meg's coming after Mal," Sam explained tersely. "This is Agent Hotchner and Agent Morgan. Can you take us to Mal?"

The girl nodded and stepped back to allow them out of the ambulance. "Friend of yours?" Hotch asked Sam dryly.

Sam nodded. "Sophia is an angel," he told the profiler. Hotch's eyebrows shot up.

"Angel," he echoed. "Of course."

Morgan shook his head again. Things were rapidly spinning out of control, but he wasn't going to leave Hotch alone with a dangerous fugitive, so he followed when the girl began to lead them into the hospital. He checked his gun and gave Sam a dark look. At the first sign of trouble, he was going to drop the young man, regardless of what Hotch said.

XxxXxxX

Emily put her phone back in her pocket and turned to JJ. "Reid just called," she said in a voice low enough that Dr. Graves, sitting only a few feet away, wouldn't hear. "He said that the wounds on the bodies in the warehouse are a match to the weapon Mallory was carrying."

JJ frowned. "That brings her body count to six, if she was the one who killed her original kidnapper." She shook her head. "I just can't believe it."

Emily glanced over to the girl sleeping in the hospital bed. "Who knows what happened to her over the last five months," she said with a shrug. "It could have been enough to make anyone snap."

Before JJ could reply, Mallory woke up with a jerk and a gasp. Emily flinched despite herself, but the girl only cast around in confusion for a moment. Her mother leaned forward, taking her hand soothingly.

"Honey? Mallory, it's okay, sweetie. You're safe now. It's over."

Mallory blinked at Dr. Graves for a long moment. "Mom?" she whispered. "What—what are you doing here?"

Irene patted her daughter's hand. "I came as soon as I heard they'd found you."

Mallory glanced around again. "Is Dad..." the question trailed off.

"No, honey," Irene said sadly. "He's not here. Your Dad and I...things just fell apart after you disappeared. We've been separated for a couple months now."

Emily thought this was a little harsh to break to the girl now, but Mallory's expression hardened. "Good," she muttered darkly. She pushed herself to a sitting position and her gaze finally caught on Emily. She blinked and frowned thoughtfully. "Emily?" she asked, sounding uncertain.

"Yes?" Emily stepped forward cautiously.

"I'm sorry for scaring you," Mallory said softly. "Did I—are those men okay?"

"They were released earlier with minor injuries," JJ put in. "The Boston PD isn't going to pursue it."

"Of course not," Irene said indignantly. "My daughter was obviously not aware of her actions at the time. She cannot be held responsible."

"Mom," Mallory interrupted, sounding annoyed. "Stop it." She turned back to Emily. "Um...is Sam...is he okay?" she asked hesitantly.

"He's being held at the station," Emily informed her. "He wasn't injured."

Mallory's expression went bleak. "Oh, crap," she muttered. She closed her eyes and her lips moved soundlessly for a moment. Then her eyes snapped open again. "Oh,_ shit_," she whispered.

"Mallory? What is it?" Irene demanded, leaning toward her daughter.

Mallory grabbed the blankets and flung them off of her, pulling her hand from her mother's grasp and removing the IV from her arm. "Mom, you have to stay here," Mallory said in a hard voice. JJ and Emily stepped forward at the same time.

"Mallory, you need to stay in bed," JJ said. "You've been through a lot."

Mallory shook her head. "No time. She's here." She slid out of the hospital cot and landed a little unsteadily on her feet. When JJ tried to take her arm, Mallory ducked away nimbly and started for the door. Emily positioned herself in the girl's way, despite her internal forebodings.

"Who's here, Mallory?" Emily demanded.

The girl blinked at her, and Emily swore she saw those pale, silvery irises darken to storm-gray. "Meg," she said hoarsely.


	23. Chapter 23

At that moment, a young girl skidded to a halt outside the hospital room door. Mallory perked up. "Sophia!" she greeted in relief. "Is anyone else here?"

The angel nodded decisively, touched her chest and then indicated over her head. "Sam?" Mallory questioned in surprise. "Sam is here?"

Sophia nodded again and gestured insistently. Mallory darted forward, dodged around Agent Prentiss, and made it out the door before the older woman could stop her. Sophia led Mallory down the hallway at a quick jog. Mallory's body was sore and aching, but she forced herself to keep up. She summoned her sword, just in case.

Sophia led her at a breakneck speed through the hospital, dodging staff and personnel, until they rounded a corner and Mal saw Sam at the other end of the hallway. Relief blossomed through her chest and she realized he'd caught sight of her, too. She raised one hand to wave.

The demon hit her broadside, slamming her into the wall. An involuntary scream wrenched from Mal's throat as pain ripped through her already-battered body. She fell on her back on the floor, the demon on top of her, hands locked around her throat. Mal couldn't breath, couldn't think, couldn't find her sword...

With an infuriated howl, Dani leaped at the demon in full canine-form. Though she didn't even weigh fifty pounds as a coyote, her momentum knocked the demon off of Mal. Dani sank her teeth into his jugular and opened the wound with a sharp twist of her head.

Mary hauled Mal to her feet and passed her back to Jo, who tried to hustle her back down the hallway, but Mal's legs weren't working and her throat had swollen closed. So instead Jo ended up crouching protectively over the younger girl, shotgun at the ready.

The demon grabbed Dani around the ribcage and easily ripped her away from him, tossing her aside. He got to his feet, blood sheeting down the front of his shirt and his eyes solid black.

"Is he one of them?" A dark-haired man demanded of Sam.

"Yeah!" Sam replied. The man lifted his gun and plugged four bullets into the demon's chest, knocking him back a few feet. Then Dean and Ellen appeared, carrying a ten-gallon tub of water. They heaved the contents over the demon and he screamed as his skin bubbled and smoked.

Sam had reached the demon by now and plunged the knife into his chest. The monster finally went down, sparking red-purple beneath its skin. Sam hardly even paused as he moved past it to where Mal and Jo watched with wide eyes.

Mal still couldn't speak, but she held up her arms as Sam crouched in front of her. He swept her against his chest, cradling her head with one hand while she gasped into his shoulder. There was a babble of noise around them but Mal couldn't bring herself to care, enclosed in the safety of Sam's embrace.

He was murmuring in her ear, but her heart was thudding too loud for her to make out his words. She clutched at his shirt, shaking with the force of both their emotions. It took a long time before her mind cleared enough to be curious as to what the hell was going on around them. She peeked out over Sam's shoulder down the hallway.

Ellen stood protectively in front of Dani, one hand on the skinwalker's back, and was yelling at Emily, who was trying to get a clear shot at the coyote. The dark-haired stranger was standing between Dean and a tall, muscular black man, both of whom seemed about to come to blows. Jo was now trying to fend off JJ and Mal's mother, her voice shrill and insistent.

A giggle rose in Mallory's throat at the sheer insanity of the whole situation, and the renewed shakes made Sam hold her even tighter. Then Mary stepped out into the middle of the hall, racked her shotgun, and lifted her voice above the noise.

"Everyone calm the_ fuck_ down!"

Everyone shut up and went still, all of them staring at Mary Winchester. She glared at each of them to make sure she had their attention. "You," she accused, stabbing her finger at the two strangers who'd arrived with Sam. "You're feds?" They nodded dumbly. "Then start evacuating the hospital," Mary ordered. "We've got a host of demons on the loose, and they won't care about collateral damage."

Mary's hand moved to jab at Dean. "Take Jo and start clearing the floors. Ground floor first. We want to drive them up here. Dani, find something to wear, and then Ellen, take her and get set up." She spun around and pinned JJ and Emily with her hard, blue gaze. "Salt. We're gonna need lots and lots of salt. Find some." Her eyes shifted to Mal's mother. "Get Mal somewhere safe and keep her there. I don't care how. Sam, you're with me."

No one moved for a long moment. Mary scowled at them. "What are you waiting for? Move!"

Emily hesitated and looked over at the dark-haired man. "Hotch?" she asked uncertainly.

"Do as she says," he replied, and clapped a hand on the black man's shoulder. "Morgan, come on."

The feds left reluctantly and the others began splitting off as well. Sam looked up at Mary. "I thought it was just a couple of them," he said uneasily.

Mary shook her head. "I'm afraid not. Dani picked up half a dozen trails and then we saw the demon-cloud on the way in. We're talking about an invasion."

A cold spear of terror stabbed through Mal's chest. "It's Abaddon," she rasped through her damaged throat. "He's coming for me."

"He's not getting anywhere near you," Sam snarled. "I promise, Mal."

Mal tried to swallow and couldn't. More words pressed up her throat but she couldn't get them out. Sam gently lifted her to her feet and passed her to Irene. "Take care of her," he said softly.

"What the hell is going on?" Irene demanded even as she cradled her daughter's fragile body close to hers. Sam nodded at Mallory.

"She can explain everything. Just keep her safe." Sam bent, retrieved Mal's sword, and pressed it into her hand. He paused for a moment, and then leaned down to kiss her gently, just once, before he was gone.

XxxXxxX

"Hotch, what the hell are we doing?" Morgan demanded as they made their way to the front desk. "And don't give me any crap about trusting you. What is going on?"

"You read the Winchester files?" Hotch asked tersely. He looked over in time to see Morgan's nod. "Everything they said is true. About ghosts, demons, all of it. Molly Grandin is possessed by a demon named Meg. She's after Mallory, I don't know why. And now apparently we have more demons coming than we counted on."

Morgan ground to a halt and grabbed Hotch's shoulder, spinning the older man around the face him. "You cannot be serious," he accused, his face dark with confusion and anger. "Ghosts? Demons? Where is this coming from?"

Hotch gestured back the way they'd come. "You saw it, Morgan. That man. That dog ripped his throat out. I shot him four times. He was still alive and moving. And his eyes. You had to have seen that."

Morgan shook his head. "I don't know what I saw, man. It was—I was seeing things. The light, or something."

"It wasn't," Hotch said intensely, taking a step closer to his teammate. "It was real, and it is happening right now. I need you with me, Morgan."

Morgan narrowed his eyes. "What's gotten into you? Why are you buddying up to a pair of fugitives all of a sudden?"

Hotch's eyes flicked away, and then returned, his gaze more intense then ever. "Because I've seen it. What they've said. And I believe them." He spun away from Morgan and continued on his way. Morgan stared after the other agent for a moment before jogging to catch up.

Hotch reached the front desk and leaned forward, catching the eye of one of the attendants. "My name is Special Agent Aaron Hotchner with the FBI and I need you to begin an immediate evacuation of the hospital," he ordered, flashing her his badge. The nurse gaped at him for a moment. "Now," Hotch prompted, and she jumped into motion, snatching up the phone.

Morgan shook his head. "I sure hope you know what you're doing," he muttered.

Hotch didn't reply.

XxxXxxX

Dani could still taste the blood in her mouth as she jogged to keep up with Ellen's longer stride. It had a strangely bitter tinge to it, but otherwise wasn't objectionable. Dani refused to allow that fact to bother her anymore. She was what she was, and there was no changing it.

_Logan's gonna kill me when he finds out about this,_ she thought to herself, and shook that away, too. Right now she had to focus on the task ahead. Around them in the hallway, people were flowing in the opposite direction, following orders from the PA system.

"They're not gonna make it out in time," Dani hissed to Ellen, eying the patients being wheeled out to the waiting ambulances. Ellen only shot her a look over her shoulder and said nothing. They finally reached their objective. Ellen took out the keycard they'd stolen from a passing doctor and swiped it through the reader. The door popped open. The two women slipped inside.

"I'll get the supplies, you take care of the water," Ellen ordered, pressing a rosary into Dani's hand. "You remember the words?"

Dani nodded sharply and headed to the back of the supply room and the staircase to the roof. Though it wasn't even midday, the concrete roof was hot to Dani's bare feet. She ignored the discomfort and hurried to the water tank, nimbly scaling the ladder and prying open the hatch.

The Latin words were unfamiliar to her mouth, but she spoke them carefully, making sure to get them right, and dropped the rosary down into the tank. Task done, she retraced her steps to where Ellen was loading IV bags into a rolling laundry bin.

"Can we bless these, too?" Dani asked.

"Sophia can take care of them for us," Ellen replied, and Dani realized she had not seen the female angel since arriving at the hospital. Ellen paused suddenly and stared at Dani. "You scared, girl?" she demanded, not unkindly.

Dani shrugged. "I don't know," she said honestly. "I—I don't think so. I mean, of all of us, I'm the hardest to kill. I think I'll be fine."

Ellen nodded sharply. "You hold onto that thought. You'll need it."

XxxXxxX

"So, demon invasion," Jo said in a falsely bright voice. "This should be fun."

Dean grunted noncommittally and finished the devil's trap he was painting while Jo stood watch, making sure he wasn't disturbed by any of the evacuating personnel. There was no way they could ward every window and door in the hospital, so they were cutting off whole wings of the building where they could, to bottleneck the demons when they arrived.

Jo shifted her weight nervously, grip shifting on the shotgun hidden under her jacket. "You've done this before, right?" she asked, serious this time.

"Yeah," Dean replied shortly. "Didn't end well, though, for the civilians."

Jo swallowed. She'd been the one to spot the demon-cloud. The memory of it still made her cold. The deep, impenetrable black, broken only by flashes of purple lightning, boiling over the horizon towards them. She'd never seen anything like it before.

She startled when Dean took hold of her arm. "Hey," he said gruffly. "We'll get through this. We'll win."

She tried to smile in response and couldn't. "Yeah. But Dean?" He raised his eyebrows inquiringly. "If we do, you're buying me a drink."

He managed to smirk at her. "Baby, if we do, I'll buy you the whole damn bar." He let go of her arm and gestured. "We should move on."

Jo nodded, feeling inexplicably better. "Right."

XxxXxxX

Mal let her mother guide her back to her room. Mal was limping heavily and she knew, from the splotches of blood on her gown, that several of her wounds had reopened. It was impossible to climb back into the cot, so Mal just sank down into one of the chairs. Irene crouched in front of her, taking both of her daughter's hands in hers.

"Sweetheart, what is going on?" Irene asked. "Who are these people? What are they talking about?"

Mallory studied the face in front of her, the features she saw reflected in her own, the same pale gray eyes. "I'm sorry," she whispered, and she knew she was about to change her mother's life forever. "I'm so sorry, Mom."

Irene gave her a confused look. "For what?"

Mallory clutched at her mother's hands. "Demons are real," she rasped. "Demons, angels, ghosts, monsters. The world is so much scarier than you could ever imagine. So much darker. And so much more amazing."

When Irene's face crumpled in disbelief, Mallory tightened her grip and leaned forward. "The things I've seen...Mom, I can't even begin to tell you everything. But you have to believe me. I've seen Heaven. And Hell. I fought in a war...and I've saved the world. Us. We all have." She could still see Irene's doubt.

"Five months ago, Mom, when I first disappeared, that man took me. He was going to kill me. But then...an angel came to me. Her name was Amitiel. She told me...she said she could save me, but I had to do something for her in return."

"Mallory," Irene tried to interrupt, but Mal pressed on.

"I had to give her my body. She needed it, to be on earth. The world was ending, Mom. It was the Apocalypse. Lucifer was free and he was going to destroy everything if we didn't stop him. But we did. Me and Ami, Sam and Dean. Cas. Bobby. Mary. We all did. But it didn't end there. Abaddon is king of Hell now, and he wants me. He wants us. He'll do anything to get us back."

Irene pulled free of Mallory's grip and stood up. "Sweetie, I can't even begin to imagine what you've been through," she said gently, delicately. "But you need help. This...story, you've created, it's just to help you cope. You know none of this is real."

Mal pushed to her feet as well, ignoring the protests from her abused body. "It's true," she insisted. "And I can prove it." She gritted her teeth and clenched her fists, reaching deep within to the well ofpower, to Ami's Grace,_ her_ Grace, and drew it forth. It flowed in a hot rush, pouring forth in wild abandon where once it had only trickled and dripped. The edge of Mal's vision went white and fuzzy as her skin began to glow.

Irene stumbled backwards, eyes and mouth wide open, one hand clutching at her chest. To Mallory, the world had suddenly come into razor focus. She could feel the presence of every human in the hospital, the number of souls rapidly dwindling. She could count each heartbeat and footstep. She could smell the approaching army of demons, sulfur and brimstone. She could feel the static approach of a storm, dry and electric on her skin. She could see Sophia, burning like a beacon, bright, white, and pure.

And then her strength was gone. The power rushed from her grasp and Mallory crumpled to the ground, gasping for breath. Irene was too shocked to go to her daughter's aid, so Mal simply lay on the cold floor, muscles occasionally twitching. She felt drained, tired as she had never been before, and didn't think it was possible for her to move a single inch.

On the up side, she was pretty sure most of her injuries had healed themselves.

"Oh, God," Irene whispered. "Oh, my God." She slowly sank to the floor, eyes still fixed on Mallory. "What...what are you?"

It took Mallory a while to gather the strength to respond. "I'm still me," she said thickly. "But I'm more. I'm...part angel now. I have...Grace. Power." As her eyes fluttered shut, she saw her mother crawling toward her. "I'm something new," she whispered, and then gave in to the darkness.

XxxXxxX

Everyone met back up in the original hallway, and everyone instinctively looked to Mary for orders, explanations, or just to make sense of the whole situation. She turned first to Hotch and Morgan. "Is everyone out?"

Hotch nodded confirmation. "Yes. We saw the last ambulance leave about five minutes ago."

Mary nodded. "Good. Dean?"

Dean glanced at Jo and briefly squeezed her arm before replying. "There's only one way in for them, right front and center."

"We've blessed the entire water supply," Ellen spoke up. "Sophia's just got to do the IV bags, and we're good to go."

Mary glanced at the little angel, who'd shown up a few minutes ago. Sophia nodded sharply. "Sophia says we have about twenty minutes until they attack," Mary reported. "Sam, Dean, set up the first line of defenses. Ellen, Jo, you lay the salt lines." Mary cast a baleful eye over Emily and JJ. "I'm assuming you can handle shotguns?" she demanded.

Emily crossed her arms. "Hotch, what the hell is going on?"

The BAU team leader only shook his head. "They're telling the truth, Prentiss. All of them. Just do as she says."

"But why is she giving orders?" Emily demanded.

Mary crossed the distance between them in two long steps, leaning forward until their noses were almost touching. "My name is Mary Winchester," she said in a dangerous voice. "And I'm the one who is going to save your ass and that of everyone here. We've got a shitload of demons twenty minutes out so if you've got any ideas on how to stop them, I'm listening. Otherwise, shut your mouth and do as you're told."

Emily blinked at the other woman for a moment. "Aren't you...dead?" she said uncertainly.

"Was," Mary replied brusquely. "It got old. I came back. Now can you handle a shotgun, or not?"

"We can," JJ surprised everyone by saying, taking a step forward. "What kind of rounds will we be using? Normal ammo doesn't seem to work against demons."

Dean tossed her a bandoleer he'd pulled from one of their bags. "Rock salt. Won't kill them, but it'll slow them down. That's all we need to do at this point."

"What exactly is the plan?" Sam asked, shouldering another bag.

"Remember Henrickson and Colorado?" Dean asked.

"Mass exorcism?" Sam considered that. "It could work. I'll need the PA system."

"I know where that is," JJ offered. When everyone stared at her, she shrugged. "I used to be the communications liaison. I notice that sort of stuff."

"Okay, you two take care of that," Mary amended her previous orders. She eyed Morgan. "You know how to handle explosives?" she asked.

Morgan looked taken aback. "Excuse me?"

Dean shoved a bag into his arms. "We'll explain on the way. Yo, Hotch, grab those IV bags. Sophia! Shake a leg, wings."

Sophia rolled her eyes but tagged along behind Dean, running every few steps to keep up. The group scattered once more about their preparations.


	24. Chapter 24

The first demon stepped into the hospital almost exactly twenty minutes later. It ventured further into the building, probing the edges of the lobby and recoiling when it found devil's traps and salt lines. Several more demons pressed in behind the first one, eyes black and eager.

Dean appeared from one of the doorways, blasted one demon in the chest with rock salt, and bolted back down the hallway, bellowing as he went. The demons howled after him, crowding into the hallway.

The water bombs took the front runners to pieces. Reeling back from horrific injuries and their skin smoking from the holy water, none of the demons noticed Dean and Morgan high-tailing it down the hallway.

"That was_ awesome_!" Dean crowed as they turned the corner. Even Morgan was grinning, and, when Dean raised his hand for a high-five, he obliged. Dean held his walkie-talkie to his mouth. "All right, wave one is down. Sam, Hotch, we're bringing them to you."

Morgan tossed the now-useless detonator over his shoulder and followed Dean as they headed toward the stairs. Behind them, the demons recovered and charged after the two humans, screaming for their blood. More demons poured into the hospital. As soon as all of them passed, Dani and JJ emerged from hiding and began laying down more salt lines to cut off any escape.

"So...that dog earlier," JJ tried at casual and failed. "That was you?"

"Coyote, actually," Dani corrected, shaking more salt from the canister. "I'm a skinwalker. It's a thing we do."

"Oh," JJ said, and fell silent. She finished pouring her lines and adjusted the position of the shotgun slung over her shoulder. "You done?"

"Yup," Dani reported, and tossed the last canister aside. "Let's go." The two women headed off towards the PA system.

On the second floor, Dean and Morgan reached Sam and Hotch's position, Dean sliding in behind Sam and Morgan joining his boss. They didn't have long to wait. The first demons approached at a dead run, and Dean and Morgan rose from cover to fire round after round of salt into their midst, forcing them back. Once a significant amount of them had clustered in the hallway, Sam activated his detonator. A second round of IV-bag-and-detcord-bombs went off. The holy water sprayed at ballistic speed, slicing into flesh. Several of the demons, their hosts too badly damaged and in pain from the holy water, smoked out of their meatsuits, leaving shredded corpses behind.

The four men broke from cover and bolted down the hallway. Ellen and Jo were waiting for them on the stairs. As soon as the men passed the two women, the Harvelles sloshed buckets of saline holy water over the floor. Then the six of them headed up to the third story.

XxxXxxX

Mallory woke up to a splitting headache. She curled into a ball, clutching her head in her hands with a groan. There was instantly a touch on her arm. "Mallory? Sweetheart, are you okay?"

"Mom?" Mal queried, opening one eye. Her mother hovered over her anxiously.

"Oh, thank God," Irene breathed. "Sweetie, you were so cold and still, I thought—" she cut herself off when the faint sound of an explosion drifted up from below them.

Mallory shot upright, headache forgotten. "What's happening?" she demanded.

"Your friends are fighting off the demons," Irene said, sounding as if she could barely believe her own words.

Mal pushed aside her mother's hands and moved to get out of the cot she'd been lying on. "I have to go," she muttered.

Sophia stepped in front of Mal, put her hands on the taller girl's chest, and pushed her backwards hard enough to force Mallory to collapse against the pillow. The angel set her hands on her hips and glared at Mal.

"I can help them!" Mal protested. Sophia shook her head and held up Mal's sword. She waved it and then hid it behind her back, expression implacable. "Sophia, I'm fine!" Mallory tried to insist, but Sophia reached over and clamped onto the girl's wrist with her free hand. She stared hard into Mal's eyes.

Mallory suddenly had the impression of a thousand presences, all of them connected and resonating within her. She recognized some of them: Castiel, Kadmiel, Balthazar, Stephen, Anna. All of them were locked in deadly struggle, fighting desperately to stay alive, to keep each other alive. And Mal knew in an instant that every single one of them would sacrifice their lives without hesitation to save her, to save the life she carried.

Then Sophia released her and the vision was gone, leaving Mallory breathless and tearful. She knew now there was no way she could risk her unborn child, not when half the host of heaven would give so much to keep her,_ them_, safe.

"Okay," she whispered to Sophia. "Okay. I get it."

Sophia nodded slowly and offered Mal her sword back. Mal took it and stowed it away, no longer interested in using it. She jumped when Irene touched her arm.

"Mallory? You all right?" Irene asked, worried.

"Yeah, Mom," Mal assured her with a watery smile. "I'm good."

Then the room went dark.

XxxXxxX

"You can turn into a coyote whenever you want?" JJ asked again.

Dani resisted the urge to sigh with annoyance. "Yes," she forced herself to reply patiently as she waited for JJ to make sure the coast was clear. Once the agent gave the signal, both women ventured into the hallway.

"How long—I mean, were you born that way?" JJ inquired.

"No. I was turned," Dani informed her, checking back over her shoulder. She didn't carry a shotgun because there hadn't been enough to go around, but she did have a bagful of water balloons Dean had found in the pediatrics ward.

"Turned?" JJ echoed. Her voice was casual as she paced down the hallway, covering each doorway they passed with her shotgun.

"Bitten," Dani explained. "By another skinwalker. It's how it's spread. And five years ago, in case you were wondering."

JJ was silent for a long moment, absorbing that information. "What's it like? Being a coyote?"

"Fun," Dani replied shortly. "Are we almost there?"

JJ nodded. "Yes. It's that room." She pointed at a doorway just ahead of them. Impatient, Dani jogged past the agent and yanked open the door. A demon lunged straight into her, knocking the girl onto her back. JJ's shotgun barked and the demon flinched. He whirled around and hissed threateningly at JJ, who faltered at the sight of his black eyes.

Dani dipped one hand into her bag, pulled out a water balloon, and smashed it into the demon's face. He shrieked as his flesh began to sizzle and burn away. Then he threw his head back and smoked out of the meatsuit.

"Oof!" Dani protested when the empty body collapsed on top of her. JJ heaved it off and helped the younger woman to her feet. "How'd it know we were coming here?" Dani asked warily.

"Lucky guess?" JJ offered without much hope. They turned to look into the room.

Every piece of equipment in the room was trashed. Dani's heart sank. "Oh, shit," she said flatly.

XxxXxxX

The group of hunters and FBI agents reached the last line of defense, where Mary and Emily were waiting. Dean lifted his walkie-talkie. "Dani! Now!" he barked.

There was a crackle of static, and then the young skinwalker's voice came back._ "Yeah, uh, we've got a problem."_

"What kind of problem?" Dean demanded. He flinched when the sound of the demons breaking through the stair doors reached them, accompanied by more screams.

"_A demon beat us to the PA system,"_ Dani said._ "It's a no-go."_

"Fuck," Sam swore, overhearing.

There was another crash as the second set of doors gave. "Plan B," Dean announced. "Prentiss, hit it."

Emily reached over and slammed her fist against the fire alarm. It screeched overhead for a few seconds before the sprinklers kicked in, drenching them all in stale-smelling water. The demons in the stairwell started screaming again, and the smell of sulfur and burned flesh drifted through the air.

"We have to hold them here!" Hotch yelled over the sound of the alarm. "We have the high ground, and we can bottle them in!"

Dean nodded. "Find anything we can take cover behind," he ordered the others. "Hurry!" Everyone except Dean and Hotch spread out into the rooms of the hallway, dragging out whatever furniture they could find. They quickly built up a makeshift barrier.

"Okay, listen up," Dean raised his voice to be heard. "We'll fire in shifts to conserve ammo. Me, Hotch, and Morgan, then Sam, Mom, and Jo. Ellen and Prentiss last. Got it?" Heads nodded as shaking hands loaded shotguns and counted cartridges. No one else said anything.

The last set of doors splintered and crashed open. The demon horde poured through toward them.

XxxXxxX

_It's mid-afternoon,_ Mal thought wildly._ It shouldn't be this dark._ But as soon as the thought crossed her mind, the light returned to the room.

Abaddon stood in the doorway.

Mal couldn't even scream. She knew he was_ here_, physically present in the room with her for the first time since Hell. She was paralyzed in utter terror. On either side of her, Sophia and Irene had frozen, as well, Irene sensing the danger in this man. Abaddon ignored them both.

"Hello, Mallory," he greeted cordially. "I told you this day would come. You and I, meeting face to face. Again. Oh, how I've missed you." He stepped into the room, his cane tapping on the floor.

"No," Mallory breathed, the word almost inaudible.

"What's that?" Abaddon said mockingly, turning his head as if to try to hear her better.

"No," Mallory said louder, though not by much.

"No?" Abaddon echoed. "No what?"

"Whatever you're gonna say," Mallory forced out. "Whatever you're gonna offer. The answer is no."

Abaddon waved his cane at her. "Don't be so quick to make ultimatums, my darling," he admonished. "Do you hear that?" He paused to listen. The staccato sound of gunfire could be heard a few floors below them, along with screams of rage and pain. "That's the sound of your friends fighting for their lives."

Mallory swallowed thickly. Abaddon took a few steps forward. Mallory manifested her sword withoutthinking about it. She slid off the cot and stood in front of her mother, sword at the ready.

"I'm not going to hurt you, Mallory," Abaddon assured her with false gentleness. "That's the last thing I want. Put the sword away."

Mallory took a deep breath and squared her shoulders, staring straight into Abaddon's dark, cold eyes. He smiled at her. "Look at you. All wounded and broken and beautiful. You know you're mine, sweet child. You've always been mine."

"Mallory, who is he?" Irene hissed in Mal's ear. Mal waved at her to be quiet.

"You're wrong," Mal told him. "I was never yours."

Abaddon waved his cane again dismissively. "Enough small talk. We're here to deal."

Mal shook her head. "I will never deal with you."

He laughed at her. "Listen to yourself, Mallory. Your friends are in grave danger. Within moments of death, by my estimate. You can save them. All you have to do is say the word, and I'll call my demons off."

Mal blinked, feeling the blood drain from her face. Abaddon placed his hand on his chest, underneath the rose in his lapel. "You have my pledge," he said solemnly. "And I'll even do more. Your little Winchester bastard? No harm will come to it. My personal guarantee."

Abaddon spread his hands. "In eight months, I'll hand-deliver the squirming little larvae to the human of your choice. What do you say, Mallory? Deal or no deal?"

Mallory felt her mother touch her shoulder, but she shrugged her hand away. She took a step forward. Sophia gasped. Abaddon smirked. Mallory took another step, pulling away when her mother tried to grasp at her gown. Slowly, achingly, she made her way over to stand in front of Abaddon.

"Well?" he asked huskily. "Yes or no? Moment of truth, darling."

Mallory stared at him for a moment. "Go to Hell," she snarled, and thrust her sword toward his chest. Abaddon didn't react. The point of the sword stopped millimeters from the lapel of his suit coat, quivering as Mal tried to shove it forward and found she couldn't.

Abaddon tsked at her. "I told you, Mallory. You aren't free of me. We're still connected. And you can't kill me, no matter how hard you try." He reached up, closed his hand over the blade of Mal's sword, and forced it down. "Well, you had your chance. You could have saved everyone. Now their blood is on your hands."

XxxXxxX

Dean fired off his last shot and ducked behind the barrier to reload. He looked around for more rounds. "Where's the extra ammo?" he demanded of Sam. Sam fired, ejected the shell, and fired again before looking back.

"We're out!" he replied grimly.

Dean swallowed convulsively. The fire sprinklers had run out five minutes ago, and the demons that hadn't retreated were pissed as hell. He checked over the barrier. There was still a good twenty of them left.

Jo cast herself down beside Dean, panting heavily. "I'm done," she reported, tossing her shotgun to the side. "Guess you won't have to buy me that drink after all."

"I might get to," Dean said with a tight smile. "Ash has got the whole Roadhouse replicated in Heaven. He's only got PBR, though."

Jo's smile was wistful. "I'd like that," she said. "See him again. The Roadhouse. Think we will?"

"Nah," Dean replied. "Don't know about you, but I don't plan on dying today."

Jo gave him a funny look. "Yeah, well, what you plan and what will actually happen may not be all that similar."

Dean threw his head back with a sharp bark of laughter. Then he grabbed Jo's hand and pulled her to her feet. "Come on. Let's find something to throw at these sumbitches." He turned away from the barrier to find Castiel standing not far down the hallway.

"Dean?" the archangel queried. "What is going on?"

"Cas!" Dean grinned in relief. "Thank God you're here, man."

Castiel looked beyond Dean and Jo. His expression hardened. "I'll take care of this," he said darkly, and strode forward. Dean turned to watch his friend go. With a gesture, Cas sent the barrier slamming into the remaining demons. "Shield your eyes!" he ordered gruffly.

Dean threw his arm over his eyes but still felt the wash of intense heat as Cas unleashed his power. The building shook underneath Dean's feet, and the high-pitched tone bored into his skull until his ears were ringing.

Then it cut off as if a switch had been thrown. Dean lowered his arm. The hallway was in shambles, light fixtures sparking and cracks in the walls. Ellen glared at Castiel.

"And just where were you half an hour ago?" she demanded of the angel.

"Russia," Castiel answered blandly.


	25. Chapter 25

Hotchner and Morgan were talking to the authorities. Sam overheard the words "terrorist attack" and "bomb" and decided he didn't want to hear anything else. He jogged over to where Dean and Cas were standing in front of the hospital.

"Hey, can I talk to you guys for a sec?" Sam asked, lowering his voice.

Castiel turned to the younger Winchester. "There was no sign of Abaddon or Meg?" he asked.

Sam shook his head. "No. They must have slipped away in the confusion."

Dean shoved a newspaper into Sam's hands. "Check it out."

Sam looked down. The newspaper was in Russian, which he couldn't read, but the pictures were clear enough. He whistled. "Dude," he said, impressed. There were aerial shots of a dozen or so craters blasted into the Siberian wasteland. "So, you won?"

"Yes," Castiel replied, and there was a weary pride in his voice. "What did you wish to discuss?"

Sam folded the newspaper and tucked it under his arm. "It's about Mal." Castiel's gaze sharpened, but he said nothing, allowing Sam to continue. "Meg told me something. She said that Abaddon needs a specific soul to unlock Purgatory." Sam looked from his brother to the archangel. "A chimera soul."

"Chimera?" Dean echoed, at the same time that Cas murmured, "Mallory." Dean gave his friend a startled look. "Mallory?" he repeated. "What the hell?"

"Mallory's soul is a chimera," Castiel explained tightly. "The combination of two very different entities. Human and angel."

Sam nodded. "Meg said that Abaddon needed to sacrifice it under the dark sun."

"A solar eclipse," Castiel guessed immediately. His gaze shifted behind Sam. "Sophia. Were you aware of this?"

Sam turned to see Castiel's sister standing a few feet away, staring up at them with dark, unfathomable eyes. She nodded slowly. Then she reached under her jacket and pulled out a scroll. She handed it to Sam. It felt old and brittle so he unrolled it carefully.

"What is it?" Dean demanded, leaning forward.

"Gimme a minute," Sam snapped irritably. His Latin was very good, but he still needed to translate. "It's talking about a spell, opening—right, opening Purgatory. An eclipse, and a jointed soul." Sam paused and read the last phrase over again. "It has to be given willingly," he said in surprise.

"What has to?" Cas asked sharply.

"The soul," Sam explained. "The soul has to be given willingly." He let the scroll roll itself back up. "Mal would never do that," he said harshly.

"No, of course not," Castiel agreed instantly. "Have you told her any of this?"

Sam shook his head. "I haven't had the chance to talk to her. Her mom keeps chasing everyone away."

"I don't think we should," Cas said.

Dean and Sam both stared at the angel. "Why the hell not?" Dean demanded. Cas turned his gaze on his Marked.

"How did you feel when I told you that you broke the first seal?" the archangel demanded. He looked at Sam. "Or when you found out you were Lucifer's vessel? It would only burden Mallory unnecessarily to tell her she is the key to opening Purgatory."

For a moment the three men were silent. "So," Sam finally said. "What do we do now?"

"We kill Abaddon," Dean said firmly. "Only way to stop him, right?"

"Yes," Castiel agreed, nodding. "But we also must think of Mallory. She must be kept safe, somewhere Abaddon cannot reach."

Sam didn't reply for a long time, his thoughts turning dark. Jess had died because he'd come into her life, because of his enemies. He didn't want the same thing happening to Mal. He didn't think he could handle it a second time. "She's not going to like it," he said softly.

Castiel shuffled his shoulders in a way that indicated that more intangible limbs were moving. "She will have to accept it," he said firmly.

"Where can she go?" Dean asked. "I mean, realistically, where else could be safe?"

Castiel glanced at Sam and then away. "She should go with her mother," he said without looking back at Sam.

"Wouldn't that be too obvious?" Dean asked with a frown.

"Abaddon would assume we'd place her deep in hiding," Castiel replied. "Or keep her in Sioux Falls. I can place heavy wards around her." He shot Sam another glance. "I know you don't like this. I'm sorry, but I don't see another way."

"No, you're right," Sam said, struggling hard to stop the swell of emotions in his chest. "She'll be safer if she's not on the front lines with us. But like I said, you're going to have a hard time convincing her."

Castiel did the funny shoulder thing again, and then started walking across the parking lot toward where Mallory sat with her mother. Dean and Sam exchanged a look and hurried to catch up. As Castiel approached the two women, Irene looked up defensively.

"God, can you people just leave us alone?" she demanded irritably.

Mallory nudged her mother. "Mom, it's okay." She turned back to the angel and raised her arms for a hug. Castiel had to go down on one knee to oblige. "I'm glad you came," she murmured.

"So am I," he replied. He set Mallory back and ran his fingertips along her forehead. "You pushed yourself too far. You shouldn't have drained yourself."

She smiled back at him wearily. "I had to show Mom. I had to make her believe."

Castiel looked at Irene. "And do you?"

The older woman shook her head. "I—I don't know. I'm not sure what to believe right now."

Castiel placed his hand on Mallory's knee. "We need to talk."

She frowned at him. "About what?"

"Abaddon found you today," Castiel told her. "We cannot allow that to happen again."

"What are you saying?" Mal asked, still frowning.

"You need to go stay with your mom for a while," Dean blurted when Castiel didn't immediately reply. Sam and Cas both glared at him. "What?" he asked defensively.

Mal shook her head. "No. I'm not going." She twisted to look at her mother. "Mom, I love you, and I'm happy I could tell you everything, but I'm not going back home with you. I belong here, with them."

"Dean is right, Mallory," Castiel said softly, taking her hand. "It would be safer if you went with your mother."

Mal stared at him in confusion. "No," she said again. "No, Sam, tell him. Tell him I'm not going."

Sam almost couldn't meet her pleading gaze. "I think you should, Mal," he said with a sigh. He wouldn't let his true feelings betray him. He had to think what was best for her. He chanted that silently to himself, but it wasn't very convincing.

Mal snatched her hand from Castiel's. "_No_," she insisted. "I'm not—you can't do this to me. You can't make me leave. I don't_ want_ to!" She jumped up, staggered, and lurched toward Sam. He caught her easily, dropping his head to press his lips against her short hair. "Don't ask me to go, Sam," she begged, her voice muffled against his shirt.

The pleading in her tone wrenched at Sam's heart but he shoved it aside, forcing himself to feel nothing so Mal wouldn't sense his true emotions through the Mark. "It's for the best," he murmured quietly. "For you and Ami."

Mal jerked away from him, eyes searching his face. "You want me to go?" she demanded breathlessly.

_No_, he wanted to assure her. _Never._ "I think it's the best option," Sam repeated instead. Mal wrenched herself from his grip.

"I_ won't_," she insisted, her voice rising. "I'm not going. I can't—you won't—" Her English ran out and she began ranting in Enochian. Castiel's expression tightened and he rose to his feet. Mallory turned on him, furious, and she began to glow, power leaking through her skin.

Castiel reached up and touched her forehead. Mal went instantly limp and the archangel was forced to catch her. He slowly lowered her to the ground next to Irene. "She will sleep for several hours," he told the woman gravely. "I suggest you be well on your way by the time she wakes up." Then he turned and walked away.

Dean hesitated, his expression clearly torn. Then he clapped Sam on the shoulder and left in search of their mother and the Harvelles. Sam stared down at Mal for a very long time, considering what his next move should be; what the best thing for her would be. Finally he knelt and kissed her lightly on the forehead. Then he stood and walked away.

Hotchner found him before he caught up with Dean. "What did you tell them?" Sam asked, gesturing toward the police cars.

The profiler shrugged. "You mention terrorists, and they make up the rest of the story for you."

Sam nodded distantly. "So what happens now?"

Hotchner gave him a close look. "Meg won't take another girl, will she?"

"Probably not," Sam told him.

"Then the case is closed," Hotchner said. "She got away, but we saved Mallory."

"She's going back to DC with her mother," Sam told him.

"Then we'll be able to keep an eye on her," Hotchner replied. "She's been through a lot."

Sam didn't comment on that. "What about me and Dean?" he questioned.

Hotchner gave him a crooked smile. "Not even going to be in the report." He offered Sam his hand. "I trust I will be able to call on you should the need arise?"

Sam shook his hand firmly. "Absolutely." He handed the agent a scrap of paper. "When you need to contact us."

Hotch took the paper and nodded. "Good luck, Sam." He turned and rejoined his team members.

Everyone was watching him when Sam reached his family. Mary put her hand on his arm and gave him an inquiring look. He ignored them all and turned to Dani. "You ready to go home?"

She was standing barefoot on the sidewalk, arms wrapped around herself, still dressed in the ill-fitting scrubs they'd managed to scrounge. "Yeah," she said tightly. "I think so." Her gaze moved past him. "What about Mallory?" she asked the question no one else was willing to.

Sam kept his expression bland. "She's going with her mother," he said flatly. He glanced over at the police cars again. "We should get going before they start asking more questions."

"Yeah, let's get out of here," Dean said. He slung his arm around Jo's shoulder. "Beers are on me."

Ellen slapped him upside the head. "Hands off, boy," she warned. Dean stepped away from Jo with a hurt expression and rubbed the back of his head. Jo rolled her eyes. Mary touched Sam's arm again.

"You okay?" she asked, low enough so the others couldn't hear.

Sam sighed faintly through his teeth, and then shook his head to clear it. "Yeah," he finally said. "I'm good."

XxxXxxX

The others were still in the bar. Sam couldn't begrudge them their celebration. They'd managed to fend off Abaddon's attack without any casualties. How often could they say that? He'd slipped out quietly when no one was looking. Or perhaps they sensed his mood and left him alone. He sat on a bench outside, nursing a lukewarm bottle of beer and staring off into the distance.

Movement to his right startled him and he jerked his head up in time to see Anna sit down next to him. She took a long drink from her own bottle of beer. "Thought you'd want to know," she said softly. "Mal made it to DC."

Sam exhaled slowly through his nose. "Thanks," he replied flatly. Anna nodded and tilted her head back to look up at the sky with a frown. He followed her gaze up, but the city's lights turned the sky into a blank void. "What is it?" he asked.

"Scouts from Raphael," Anna said tightly. "They've been nosing around since Cas released all that power. Stephen and I've been keeping them off your backs."

Sam blinked. "Oh. Uh, thanks, I guess."

Anna finally looked at him, her eyes unreadable. "It's going to get worse."

"The war?" Sam guessed uneasily.

"Raphael gains ground every day," Anna continued. "Many of our side have begun to doubt Castiel. They want to know why the Apocalypse is such a bad idea. They can't see things the way we do."

Sam snorted. "No offense, but I don't think you _do_ see things the way we do."

Anna's gaze turned disdainful. "I do remember what it was like to be human, Sam," she said stiffly.

Sam pressed his lips together and said nothing. Anna had once wanted to kill him. While that was not really all that unusual, he couldn't help but hold that against her, just a little bit. "So what do we do?" he asked, waving one hand to encompass the war, Heaven, earth, and Hell in one inclusive gesture.

Anna's mouth quirked up in one corner. "We have something that Raphael cannot and will never understand."

"What's that?" Sam queried.

She looked over at him again. "You. The Winchesters. Our little secret weapons. Pervasive, persistent, and, against all odds, remarkably hard to kill."

Sam had to chuckle despite himself. He toasted her with his beer bottle. "Amen to that." Anna clinked her bottle against his and they both drank.

"Cas tells me he's asked you and Dean to take care of Abaddon," Anna said after a moment's silence.

"Yeah, keep him from opening Purgatory," Sam replied.

"Especially now that you know Mallory is the key to opening it," Anna observed. Sam said nothing. "You know, the funny thing about a key," Anna continued. "Is that it can open things, but it can also lock them."

Sam frowned at her. "What do you mean?" he demanded.

"You may have sent her away for now, but you can't keep Mal out of the war forever," Anna said. "Abaddon's whole plan hinges on her. He won't leave her in peace for long."

"Just has to be long enough to kill him," Sam said roughly.

"You won't," Anna replied. Sam narrowed his eyes.

"The hell I won't," he countered.

Anna shrugged. "You won't," she repeated. "Joshua received Revelation from our Father."

Sam felt his spine stiffen. Joshua wasn't a prominent angel, nor a very powerful one. He was merely the keeper of the Garden in Heaven. But sometimes, he talked to God. Or rather, God talked to him. "What did he say?" Sam demanded.

Anna contemplated her beer for a moment. "She's one of us, now, you know," she said softly. "Mallory. Part angel. Almost like a half-sister."

"What did Joshua say?" Sam growled, impatient.

Anna sighed and met his gaze. "That Heaven's youngest child will strike down the King of Hell."

Sam stared at her for a moment. "No. It's not talking about Mal. It's some other angel."

Anna rolled her eyes. "_Filia Caelo_. Daughter of Heaven. That's what Mallory is called in the Archives."

He shook his head. "I won't let her do it. I won't put her in danger." That was the whole reason he'd sent her away. He didn't want to think that he'd broken her trust in him for nothing.

"Sam, you can't just dismiss it," Anna told him. "It's destiny. No matter how hard you fight it, it will come down to Mallory and Abaddon, face to face."

"Screw destiny," Sam snapped. "We've always done things our way."

Anna gave him a flat look. "Destiny said you and Dean would accept the archangels. You did."

"And look how that turned out," Sam shot back. "Destiny said we would end the world."

"You still might," Anna said.

Sam scowled at her for a moment. "When you actually decide to be helpful, then come find me." He got to his feet and and headed back towards the bar.

"Sam," Anna called after him. Sam stopped but didn't turn around. "Don't let your fear of losing her get in the way of saving the world. I think she'll surprise you."

Sam took a deep breath and started walking again. Behind him, the whisper of disturbed feathers could barely be heard over the city noises.

XxxXxxX

Crowley was not happy. He was quite tired of being hunted by his own kind and all the inconveniences of being forced to hide and skulk about. And while the damnable Winchesters and their pet archangel were just as determined as he was to ensure Abaddon's demise, all three of them had refused any sort of assistance from him. Not that he _enjoyed_ working with those self-righteous twats, but they were, on occasion, useful. He just had to come about it a different way.

Which was why he was currently in Tel Aviv, waiting on a street corner for possibly one of the most dangerous persons in existence. He felt her coming before she arrived, as his powers slipped away, fading to nothing and leaving him as helpless as a human. He hated it, but he would put up with it as a necessity.

"What do you want?" she asked brusquely when she finally reached him, crossing her arms over her chest.

"Just a chat," Crowley said easily despite his apprehension. He offered her a cigarette. "Fancy a fag?"

She glared at him wordlessly, so Crowley lit the cigarette and took a couple breaths. He blew out a stream of smoke, staring up into the bleached, blue sky.

"Your kind don't cross oceans just for a _chat_," she finally said impatiently. "Talk, Crowley, or I'll slit your throat and be done with it."

"You're just a joy, aren't you," the demon replied snappishly. "I've got a proposition for you."

"I don't make deals," she reminded him, more impatient than insulted.

"I know," Crowley sniffed. "And I wouldn't want your soul if I could get it. You heard about the Apocalypse?"

Her body language instantly went from aggressive to wary. "Yes," she said slowly. "But I try not to get involved with angel business."

"Not asking you to," Crowley assured her. "It was stopped. The Apocalypse, that is. Lucifer popped back in the Cage. Problem is, Abaddon decided it was time to step into the open position."

Her brown eyes narrowed. "Abaddon," she echoed slowly, as if tasting the name. "And what do you want me to do about it?"

"There are these two humans. Brothers, by the name of Winchester. Most annoying pieces of meat on the planet. But I find them useful. They're trying to go after Abaddon, but I know they'll fail miserably."

She tilted her head silently, inviting him to continue. Crowley puffed on his cigarette idly a few times, watching her expression out of the corner of his eye. Only when she began to look annoyed did he start speaking again.

"I'd like you to help them out. Keep them alive, and make sure they kill Abaddon. And put in a good word or two for me. They don't exactly trust me at the moment."

She rolled her eyes. "I wonder why that would be."

"Oh, shut it," Crowley snapped. "I'm perfectly trustworthy."

She cocked an eyebrow at him. "And what would I receive in return?" she demanded.

"Immunity," Crowley replied promptly. "Once Abaddon's dead, I take over as King of Hell, and you'll have my personal guarantee that no demon will ever bother you again, on pain of eternal torment."

She stared at him, her expression uncertain. "You would do that?" she asked, her voice cautious. "Why?"

"Because I don't like to waste possible assets," Crowley told her. "And if we work out a truce, then I don't have to worry about you ever coming after me."

She continued to stare unblinkingly at him, head tilted slightly in a very angel-like gesture. After several moments of silence, she finally said, "Very well. I will do this. I have no desire to see Abaddon rule Hell. But if you renege on your word, I will kill you myself."

Crowley flicked his cigarette to the ground and stamped it out. "Sounds fair." He held out his hand. She gave it a pointed look. "Would you rather we seal it with a kiss?" Crowley snarked. She wrinkled her nose and took his hand, shaking it as briefly as possible before dropping it.

The crossroads demon smirked. "Always a pleasure doing business with you, Miriam."

She glared at him, turned on her heel, and marched away. Crowley shivered in relief and pleasure when his powers returned as soon as she was out of range. "Always a pleasure," he murmured to himself again, and then vanished.

XXXXXX

A/N: And this is the end of _Time of Angels_. The story will continue in _Road to Zion_, which should be up shortly.

A few words of thanks:

Firstly to CFEditor, who has bravely taken up the position as my beta, who has been a fan of this series from the beginning, and has inspired, prodded, and prompted whenever and wherever necessary. My deepest thanks!

And also to Starpossum, Ziggymia123, SPN Mum, GraceW, Igniting Fireworks, Kansas Angel, Mallie, MJ, and jolinar-rosha for all of your reviews and encouragement. Thanks for putting up with me, guys!


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